Business and Pleasure
by ibuberu
Summary: Sometimes, you just can't help but mix the two together. — Roark, Byron.
1. Plain : Giovanni and Sabrina

**A/N :**

Business and Pleasure will be about Gym Leaders from all the 4 regions. Either shippy, friendshippy or just random drabbles. So, if you have a gym leader shipping/drabble you'd like me to write, feel free to leave a review and I'll see what I can do about it. Gym Leaders need moar love!

**Disclaimer**: Pokémon and all other things related to it don't belong to me! Sadly.

**World** – Manga  
**Characters** – Giovanni/Sabrina (Socioshipping)  
**Genre** – Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance (sort of)  
**Note(s) **– Because Team Rocket romance is epic.

* * *

**Plain : Giovanni and Sabrina**

He had been her boss, her leader.

And nothing more.

She had joined him for many reasons – for the delicious money, the gruesome, spine-tingling tasks and the tantalizing thrill of seeing the weak squirm under her mighty steel grip. That was what Team Rocket was going to do, he told her. And when she tried to read his mind in search of the truth, she was sucked into his ideals even more.

His mind was an unpredictable vortex of swirling thoughts. Thoughts. Void of emotion. So crafty, so dastardly evil, and so hard to read without getting lost in the enigmatic abyss. His intent was true, and his thirst for power was real – raw, dangerous and _real _–. That was the only time when she attempted to read his mind, very soon after; she decided not to perform such a stunt again. Because there was no need to read his mind now, and neither would she need to read it again in the future. He was her boss now. And she could faintly sense the knowing feeling in his wry smile as they shook hands – cold, clammy, but _firm_ – and she realized that he probably knew it too.

So she joined him, just for the fun of it.

Nothing more.

And she was interested in this particular person, but no – it couldn't have been anything more than pure curiosity and inquisitiveness on her part. She reasoned with herself. Feelings of attraction were either short-lived or just a fleeting emotion in humans. No one really understood Love. So Love couldn't exist because of that. And why would a Master of Minds like her need something as useless as Love – if it even existed –? All she needed was to manipulate her pawns, which was something she could confidently say she had attained perfection in.

Love didn't exist in his eyes as well; she just believed that that was the case right off the bat. She didn't need to use any psychic powers to figure it out. Because when she first tried to see into his mind and his heart, she was met with icy-cold resolve. Unfeeling about the consequences of what they were about to do. He was simply consumed in those impossible dreams. And she liked that.

She was just interested.

Nothing more.

She wanted to experience those impossible dreams come to life in their new world. To witness the dawning of a new era where the strong would rule and the weak either served them – or die. A world where atrocious emotions like _Love_ would cease to exist. What was truly important was fear. That was what controlled people's wills. That was what he said, and what she agreed to.

She was immediately promoted to the second highest rank in the organization, because she wouldn't settle for anything less. And it was partially because of _her _flawless manipulation skills, as she simply refused to believe that the boss had developed any sort of fondness or respect for her. She certainly hadn't. And before long, two others joined her in the rankings. A poisonous Koga and electrifying Surge. Queer and equally evil individuals, but none could compare to him. For he was the one that interested her the most. The three of them resolved to his bidding without question. To follow their leader through blood, bones and tears on his quest to gain power. Absolute power.

And they took the blood oath together. For as long as they remained Rockets, they would do his bidding and follow him to the pinnacle of greatness.

Nothing more.

The experiments on Pokémon that followed were morbid, cruel and grisly. Blood split and pooled in thick scarlet puddles on the tiled floor whenever one showed feeble resistance, but it was hardly ever enough. They would always be restrained again, because they did not have the strength to match their determination to flee the madness. Pointed needles of the syringes were poised to pierce through the hardest skin and largest of creatures, just to see the reaction. To record their findings about how rampaging Pokémon were, in fact, ten times more powerful than tame ones. Their shrieks and roars and cries resounded throughout the building, carrying the pain, the agony of it all. But that was what she liked about it. To see the powerless writhe in acute terror under the knife and just throw her head back and laugh at the pitiful sight. Because the weak deserved such treatment.

And when one young boy came across an Eevee they had toyed with; well, she just smiled as she sat on her Kadabra's tail, because she had found a new plaything. Then she teleported off to the base, to inform Koga and Surge that she had found the child who had caught their interest. And they proceeded to hatch a full-proof scheme to take over Saffron, tossing away their worries about the threat that such an immature brat would ever pose.

But after the battle, his name was forever etched in her memory – Red. Along with that, that annoying, troublesome she-witch, Blue! The nerve of her! If that meddlesome girl hadn't had those Pokéballs on her chest… She wouldn't have been distracted. And she wouldn't have failed him.

Because her boss left them after that.

And she was only concerned about it because now, Team Rocket had lost its leader.

Nothing more.

After a year, she was forced to meet up with the children again. And this time, it wasn't for a fight. It was for teamwork. It disgusted her to no end, because she never worked together with anyone. She manipulated people to perform her dirty work. That was what she did. But, she took it all in stride, and appeared before the clueless youths in her absolute elegance, alongside Koga and Surge. The Spoon of Destiny chose their partners, and she was appalled when the cutlery bent itself towards _the girl_. However, she simply rolled her eyes and flicked her long mane of hair over her shoulder, and started to stroll into Cerise Island. Because she wanted to find her boss, regardless of all the hitches and _extra burdens_ she would have to carry.

And when they did find him, she was met with confusion and perplexity. Her wrists were aching from Lorelei's loathsome ice-cuffs but the pain in her hands subsided and went straight for her chest the moment he spoke.

Go back to your gyms, he said. Its over, he continued. And even she couldn't hide the stunned expression on her face. After all she had gone through for him… that was the end? And her heart moved in her chest, but she refused to believe that it had anything to do with him. And yet, she found the questions gnawing at her incessantly.

Why? Why? Why?

Was I too shabby? Did I fail you?

No, nothing of the sort, he replied in his characteristic voice of indifference.

Then tell me, she insisted, grabbing onto the sleeve of his suit and pulling it. Not softly like a damsel, but roughly, like someone who demanded an apology. Her grip tightened on the fabric as he made a motion to brush off the hand. Her long, sharp nails dug into his skin and she didn't even care if her boss felt the pain. But even if he did, he made no effort to show it. And he finally gave in and told them the truth. It was because of _her_ manipulation skills. She was the master.

He told them he had picked up some information about his son.

Son?

The word stabbed her hard, right in the middle of her gut. And the world of her mind shook without her permission. Without _her_ permission.

Son?! Surge and Koga were flabbergasted. And she was speechless, because she did not know what to say. She couldn't talk even if she wanted too, because her bodily functions were haywire and she couldn't think straight. Because this could not be happening. This. Could. Not. Be. Happening.

What about us? Surge's tone was as robust and as loud as ever.

Your services are unnecessary; the man explained, shaking her trembling fingers off his jacket.

I've already found the right candidates to help me with this task. _The Beast Trio._ He informed them in a professional, business-like voice. As if they had made an agreement and now, the deal was over. But it wasn't like that; it wasn't supposed to be like that. They had taken a blood oath. _A blood oath_.

And there was an air of impress in his voice. Which she hated so much. She wanted to screw with his mind so badly and rip off his lips and push him into the sea. But all of that was out of her reach. Her body was paralyzed with shock, and instead, _her_ mind had been screwed with.

Breaking up Team Rocket just to find his son? Was it all a sad, miserable joke? No, it couldn't have been. He had that warped and intensely pleased smile on his face. The smile he usually reserved for _her_ accomplishments, Now, she hated him even more.

WHY? The anger empowered her to speak.

It was a Father's _Love_, he replied calmly.

Nothing more, he added.

Koga nodded in understanding, and Surge shook his head in disbelief.

While her shaking world came crashing down all of a sudden in the confines of her mind. And she had to use all of her will not to break down in front of three grown men. So she turned around, and allowed her hair to sway dramatically behind her as she walked away from the idiotic scene. Momentarily forgetting her ability to teleport. And it _wasn't because_ of the impact of the news, she coldly informed her beating heart. Because she was the Master of Manipulation, her feelings would never be manipulated. She was clearly under the weather because of Lorelei's doing.

But after a few more steps, she came to a halt, and she could feel two pairs of eyes on her. Neither of them belonging to the one she desired. She wanted him to see her leave, to see her disappear from his grasp – and then feel the weight of regret collapse onto his broad frame. And when he came crawling back to her, she would kick him away and throw her head back and laugh. Laugh and laugh and laugh, at the pitiful experiment of hers. But no, these were impossible thoughts. A chuckle escaped her lips, and she finally admitted silently to herself.

That Love, that stupid, _stupid_ emotion, probably did exist. That she was in a firm state of denial all along, and now, it was time to be strong and face the truth. But she did not let her shoulders shake and her breath remained still, even as something tiny pricked at her eyes.

And she realized, that perhaps, there was another Master of Manipulation here. But unlike her, he not only toyed with the mind – he toyed with the heart as well.

She did not turn around anymore because she would not let him – nor Koga , nor Surge – to see her tears. Because she was strong. She was not a weakling.

"Farewell, Giovanni."

And she vanished into thin air.

It was just a good bye.

_And nothing more._


	2. Forest : Falkner and Janine

**A/N:**

Fatherlyshipping FTW. Considerably more light-hearted than Plain.

**World** – Manga  
**Characters** – Falkner/Janine (Fatherlyshipping)  
**Genre** – Romance, Friendship  
**Note(s) **– nil

* * *

**Forest : Falkner and Janine**

"Officer Falkner, are you patrolling in the East District? " the coal back handheld radio blared from its comfy spot on the helm of the pearly white motorcycle as it sped through the city streets of Violet. The uniformed man riding said vehicle kept one firm grip on the steering handle as his other reached for the communication device and unclipped it from its place.

"Yes sir," the Gym Leader answered the transmission in a polished voice, his short, raven black hair tussling into a definite mess as the oncoming wind swept over his entire frame. The ladies sauntering on the sidewalks tossed him flirtatious glances as he rode past them; batting their eyes; offering a smile; but he never bothered to return their advances, and they could only sulk as a result.

"Very well, then. Please investigate a report of trespassing near the Bellsprout Tower. Some civilians have informed us that there's someone sneaking about." the Headquarters informed the policeman through the static of the radio. The young man's heartbeat increased as the news reached his ears, and his face grew solemn as he furrowed his eyebrows in suspicion.

"Roger. Over and out."

Falkner lifted his thumb off the button that was located at the side of the walkie-talkie and proceeded to clasp it back into its place. Then, he concentrated all his focus on the task at hand, flicking his wrists and accelerating down the darkening roads as night fell upon the city, whipping up skirts and blowing away hats as he did so. The street lamps flanking the lanes sprung to life, shining down upon the youth's stern and finely-chiselled features. As young and inexperienced as he was, Falkner knew he had a crucial duty to ensure Violet City's safety, and he would uphold his commitment to his best capabilities. Being the Gym Leader and a member of the Police Force wasn't the easiest job in the whole world, but Falkner couldn't shun his responsibility, no matter how much it burdened him at times.

As he neared the ancient tower, the male gently tapped on the brakes and skidded to a halt at the corner of the road. Cautiously, he dismounted the bike and withdrew a metallic, palm-sized torch from the small holder sewn onto the back of his leather belt. With the flip of a button, the darkness fled, and the surroundings became much clearer. The man ventured down the walkway, shining the light from left to right, his eyes alert. As he approached the towering structure that creaked with every sway from the inner pole, he caught sight of a shadowed figure perching itself on the third floor of the tower.

Without any prior warning, an Ariados leapt from the obscurity, baring its two incisors dangerously at Falkner. The Gym Leader vaulted back in the nick of time, startled, but ready for action as the arachnid landed at the entrance of the tower.

"Noctowl! Foresight!" The man retreated with deft agility, unclasping one of the Pokeballs attached to his belt before launching it at the opponent. As the spherical burst open and the crimson light erupted from the contents, the trespasser grounded himself next to his Ariados on the lightest of feet. Wordlessly, he thrusted out a scrawny arm and got into a battle stance, synchronising with the spider at his side. His face was still partially shielded under the darkness that neither the torch nor the Pokeball energy could reach. Meanwhile, Falkner couldn't help but feel a wave of nostalgia wash over his frame as his trusty avian materialised in mid air, beating its mighty wings to keep airborne.

The wind whipped up the person's red scarf, and the Police Officer's torchlight shined over the perpetrator, revealing lean legs covered with thin fishnets, and a well-positioned foot that wore a traditional Japanese-style sandal. Something struck a chord in his memory and Falkner raised his head in alarm; desperate to see the person's face, just as his Noctowl ran its glowing gaze over the unknown person. And he locked his sight with eyes of (the deepest and most captivating) maroon. He recognized the determination reflected in their depths.

"Janine!" he called out to her in a tone that was mixed with exasperation, surprise, and delight (for he had not seen her for quite awhile). The woman jolted as her name was called and she instantly lowered her arms, signalling to the apprehensive Ariados that there was no need to scuffle.

"F-Falkner?" She squinted her eyes and took a few steps forward into the shine of the man's torch, her nose and mouth masked under her ninja attire. Once she had confirmed that the Police Officer was indeed the Violet City Gym Leader, her cheeks grew hot and she immediately felt embarrassment crawling over her skin – her ninja mystique was shattered.

"My apologies! I-I did not recognize you in your uniform." She curtly bowed her head, exposing her neat, dark hair and its spiky bun. Who would be able to discern Falkner in such apparel? He looked so refined, so different from the Gym Leader tournament. The police cap and crest proved to be of no assistance. Yet, the young female couldn't help but agree that the dark blue ensemble did befit the serious and honourable Falkner. It made him look (dare she admit it?) dashing. Lost in her thoughts, she allowed her lowered head to hang itself for a far longer time than expected. The puzzled man could only take the chance to scrutinize her every detail; from her fascinating ninja outfit to the paleness of her cheeks; he hadn't seen her for so long. He couldn't remember her (being so attractive) from the last time they had met.

As Janine finally straightened her posture, the male firmly reminded himself that he was on patrol, which meant that he had to enforce the law, even if it meant that the perpetrator was a friend.

"Janine, what were you doing here so late? The Bellsprout Tower closes in the early evening; no one is allowed to come here afterhours without a valid reason." He informed her in his most professional voice, centring himself about the fact that he had to uphold his duty as an Officer.

"I was unaware of that rule," the woman answered in an earnest voice.

It was as if a weight had lifted itself off his shoulders, and the man couldn't help but feel relieved that he would not need to arrest her now. However, there was still another question that bugged him.

"But why were you up..." Falkner raised his head and the ninja mimicked the action, "– there?"

Janine's hands wound themselves around her red scarf awkwardly as she started to explain. "Well, a few days ago, I received news that Father had been spotted near Ilex Forest." It was then, did Falkner recall that the woman was fiercely loyal to a parent that had supposedly left the Fuchsia Gym – and her – for the notorious Team Rocket. While he disapproved of the man's decision, he couldn't prevent his heart from warming at the daughter's drive to search for her missing dad.

"Ilex Forest? That's a few miles away from here, next to Azalea." The man cocked his head curiously to the side as he grew tired of holding the torch. He gestured towards the female and started walking up the path, back to where the lamps lighted the streets. Janine and her Ariados trailed behind (or rather, scurried) as a confused expression plastered itself on her face.

"So... that's the reason why I failed to see it from the tower." Janine's eyes softened and disappointment flooded her body.

"What's up?" Falkner could see her clearly now, under the glow of the streetlights, but he didn't like the sight. Despite her charming profile, she seemed troubled, and it made him feel uneasy. He had a job, after all, to ensure everyone's satisfaction – there was no other reason for his feelings.

"I-I had planned to finish my search by tonight and return to my gym by tomorrow." The girl sighed softly, bringing out a purple Pokeball that had been attached with sharp fan-like edges. It finally dawned on the male that she was in the same predicament as him. She had to balance two different lives as well – being a free-lancer and a gym leader. And the man couldn't help but feel that this piece of information brought him just a slightly bit closer to her and her current predicament.

She withdrew the idling Ariados just as the policeman remembered his Noctowl, and quickly mirrored her action. Falkner had been so caught up with talking to her, that he had completely forgotten about all other things. He chewed his lower lip as Janine kicked at a stray pebble, descending into silence as she struggled to figure out a solution. Falkner just couldn't bear to leave her in such a situation, after all, they _were_ both Gym Leaders – there couldn't possibly have been another reason.

"I'll give you a ride to Azalea," he offered the worried female with an encouraging grin.

Janine lifted her eyes from the sidewalk and they flickered momentarily with the tiniest hope. But then, she ran her uncertain gaze down his well-ironed uniform, lined with shiny, gleaming buttons; a couple of prestigious badges were pinned (gorgeously) above his left breast; and she couldn't prevent the guilt from mounting onto her shoulders.

"That would be unnecessary, you have a duty to your city," she calmly told the male in spite of herself.

"I have a duty to my friend," Falkner stated simply in return, reaching out a hand and clamping it on her skinny shoulder as a handsome smile spread across his features (a beam that far brightened the light of the streetlamps). Janine flinched at the touch, reconciled on the fact that she had her mask on, for it concealed her reddening face as the blood rushed to her cheeks.

"Come on, it's getting late." The Police Officer grabbed onto her hand (like he usually did under normal circumstances with any civilian who happened to need his help) and led her over to his resting motorcycle.

"No, I couldn't –" Janine shook her head indecisively, not wanting to impose on him.

"If you're going to struggle against me, I might have to take you to the station," Falkner chuckled (a sweet-sounding melody). Janine blushed lightly in response. Then she laughed (a harmonic note) at the joke, before nodding weakly without any further retaliation.

Wordlessly and consciously, she positioned herself behind the male who was already mounting the bike, and speaking into the walkie-talkie attached, taking care not to come into contact with him (despite the horribly confined motorcycle seat). She wrapped the lingering ends of her scarf around her neck before locking her hands onto the protruding sides of the two-wheeled vehicle. She wasn't about to _wrap her arms around Falkner_. That was uncalled for (as... tempting as it sounded).

" – Yes, my apologies. Yes, it was a false alarm. I'll be returning to the station after my errand."

Falkner clipped the radio back into it respective position before looking over his shoulder to the ninja. "Ready?" he politely inquired as he turned the ignition on.

"Yes."

-

The wind breezed past them as the motorcycle barrelled out of the bright city streets and onto the rough roads that led to the next town. Falkner's shoulders relaxed and he allowed his gaze to wander the grassy fields and trees that dotted the surroundings. The amount of obstructions in the wilderness was significantly less than those found in the city. (People, fire hydrants, soccer balls, a stray Meowth, the obstacles were endless) His eyes rested on Janine's shivering leg, purple through the fishnets that veiled it, straining itself not to lean into his thigh.

"Are you alright?" he posed the question, not bothering to conceal the worry in his voice.

"Yes, just slightly chilled," Janine piped up, not wanting to be a burden.

"Why are you always decked out in that attire anyway?" Falkner asked, in an effort to strike up a conversation.

"It is what I am expected to wear," she replied simply.

"You mean you're always working?" the male asked in disbelief.

"If I'm not at my gym, I try to look for some tasks to perform. It helps me with my training." The young female explained in a patient voice, her eyes scouring the vicinity for nothing in particular. The moon looked strangely captivating tonight with its warm glow and the stars that scattered across the blanket of the sky were also breath-taking, each and every one of them glimmering in their own way. She never really gave such trivial things a second glance, with all her sneaking around and running.

"Wow, you must be really dedicated." Falkner snapped her out of her daydreams, and Janine shook her head furiously at the thought.

"N-No, certainly not," Janine defended herself.

"Then why not wear some street clothes?" he broached in a carefree voice.

"I'm afraid that I've never considered that option," The woman admitted.

"It's alright, you look great in your ninja attire anyway." Falkner salvaged a smile on his face. (He was speaking the truth, afterall.)

"N-N-NO!" the woman answered (but it sounded more like a shriek) and her grip on the motorcycle tightening as they passed a stretch of particularly bumpy road.

"You'd better hold onto me," Falkner suggested, the uneven path causing the vehicle and its riders to jerky choppily up and down. Janine's hands slipped and she made a lunge for the male's waist instinctively without giving the action any further consideration. As she linked her hands over him, the Gym Leader was surprised by his surprise (was that even possible?) as she curved into him. He had driven other females (who were more than happy to sidle up to him), so why was his heart beating so fast? And he desperately tried to retain control of steering as her body (... you know) leaned against his back.

"O-Okay back there?" he tried to ease the tension with a casual tone.

"Y-Yes..." Janine replied meekly, refusing to move, far too afraid that she'd commit another humiliating stunt if she attempted to reconcile the situation. She was a well-trained ninja, why was she losing her composure around someone like Falkner? Re-evaluation was necessary – she coolly informed herself. Then, her thoughts drifted away as she caught the scent of an intriguing combination of feathers and ash.

She grinned silently to herself, because Falkner was something special, she realised (and it was better late than never).

-

"You have my thanks, Falkner." Janine hopped off the bike, shaking her shoulders and allowing the loose ends of her crimson neckwear to cascade freely over her back. Falker remained on his personal motorcycle, one leg rooted to the ground. "Not a problem," he chirped, before an idea cropped in his mind.

"Janine?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think you could remove your mask for awhile?"

The Gym Leader did as she was told, not knowing the Police Officer's intention. "What is the problem?" she inquired, her eyebrows raised.

"Nothing, I just wanted to see your smile." Falkner grinned.

Janine couldn't help but blush at his words, granted, a smile did blossom on her face. Falkner beamed in return, resting one elbow on the helm of his bike, trying his best not to give away the reality of his heart – hammering, thumping, bouncing in his ribcage. The stance made him seem even more stunning and entrancing, and she was nearly lost in the sea of her mind.

"M-My apologies for holding you up. I shall take my leave." Janine regained her composure and proceeded to lower her head in thanks. She then turned her back to the man and leapt onto the broad branch of the nearest oak.

"Right, so, I'll see you again, right?" Falkner cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted up to her, not wanting their meeting to end so abruptly.

"Well..." Janine didn't know what to say, for no one had ever asked her a question like that.

"I'll take that as a yes, then!" the man answered himself; enthusiastic; jovial; refusing to accept any other answer from her.

"And then we'll be able to train with each other next time," Falkner proposed in a hopeful tone.

A second smile broke out on the young lady's face. And she nodded, her cheeks a faint pink (and he could see through the dimness, so he smiled too). Janine contemplated for a moment – just a moment – and it dawned on her that she didn't mind spending time with him (in fact... she was looking forward to it). Because Falkner was someone special.

"Yes, I'd like that."

She slipped her mask back on, mentally taking note that she would ask Misty for some advice about shopping when she returned to Kanto.

Then, she disappeared as briskly as she had first appeared, into the darkness of the night, leaving the Police Officer alone in the clearing of the forest. Falkner started to laugh at himself, raising a hand over his heart, only to find that it was still beating vigorously. He realised that he wasn't alone at all; because there was someone; standing close to him; hugging him; only moments before. Someone who could relate to him, who shared the same burdens as him, and who he felt a certain attraction to. The thought gave him confidence - the next time Janine appeared before him, he'd be able to see her alluring smile again, maybe even give her a kiss.

And he looked forward to something special like that.


	3. Balance : Brock and Erika

**A/N:**

Hello all. This time, it'll be a fic based on the budding relationship between Brock and Erika. Again, yes, this is based of Pokemon Special! This pairing has caught up eye since about, maybe the middle of the GSC Arc? Where Brock saved Erika more falling off the bridge. Yeah, I'm the type of person who basically ships anything I like/has the slightest hint. Things appeal to me way too easily XD It was hell to search for the exact name of the attire Erika wears, but yeah, it was worth it.

But anyway, if you aren't too irked with this pairing, I hope you'll enjoy Balance!  
(And chocolate cookies to you if you've managed spot the hidden-meanings I've included in this piece. I find that that's the most romantic thing about this, actually.)

**World** – Manga  
**Characters** – Brock/Erika  
**Genre** – Romance, Friendship  
**Note(s) **– manga!Brock is way different (or more like, the total opposite?!) from anime!Brock (unless me-not-watching anime for the last couple of seasons, has missed a Brock-  
personality-change). So, yeah.

* * *

**Balance : Brock and Erika**

I dig my tanned hands into the pockets of my worn out track pants as I weave through the numerous streets of Celadon. I can't help but feel out of place, here, in a city which I'm not very familiar with. Afterall, Pewter is a slightly quieter urban area, with less bustling. We don't have fancy stores that tower to the heavens, and neither do we have a casino. As I walk by said building, adorned with flashy lights and gigantic neon signs, I tilt my head to the side and slow my footsteps.

I wonder whether she visits this place in her free time.

'_No. Impossible,_' I tell myself flippantly, before carrying on down the tiled walkway.

'_She's so gentle and refined. She'll never come to such a place like this._'

Yes, she's so elegant and so skilled in the finer arts. She lectures in a University, and practices archery. She wears the most captivating kimonos and combs her hair back neatly in the best possible way. The women nowadays have abandoned such habits, choosing to wear less and act hardly as demure. Truthfully, I don't have much of a problem with that, since I've a friend (Misty's her name) who captures that description quite accurately. But Erika and her ladylike manners – they are what make her stand out in the crowd. They are the things that make her beautifully unique and fragile.

I raise my bandaged arms in front of my chest and sigh to myself.

I'm too violent, and the only skill I actually possess is punching with my fists. I train in my gym all day, and never really do anything to help the community on a regular basis, unlike her. I'm just a simple security guard, for pete's sake! I can never measure up to her. To add more salt to the wound, I sweat a lot and hardly bother with the decency of wearing a shirt when I'm in my gym. She… she dresses and preens herself until she looks like a princess, just for the benefit of a challenger. My habits must have come off as disgusting and vulgar to her. Yet, I still find myself drawn to her, despite our obvious differences. Her charm and grace overshadow my brawn and strength. Yet, I still find myself in Celadon on my day-off, looking for her, wondering what she's doing.

I wander off the streets now, not sure which way is which. All I want is to catch a glimpse of her, and then leave. Yes, that's what I'll do. I enter a large park that's located just outside the city limits. The breeze is cool; the grass is soft; not too muddy, not too dry; the fragrances of the large variety of flowers permeate the air. The surroundings are so serene and naturally beautiful; it's a perfect place for someone like her.

"Brock!"

A soft, joyful voice calls out to me, and I recognize the chime instantly.

"E-Erika! H… Hello!" I turn to face the Celadon City Gym Leader, attempting to sound as calm and as collected as her. (But I'm just plain horrible at anything she's good at, so, I failed)

"Are you alright?" Erika furrows her brow in concern and approaches me with one petite hand raised. She has a bow resting over her right shoulder, and a thin brown quiver hoisted on the other. The supervisor of the Kanto Gym Leaders is clad in a long, violet hakama that tumbles to her ankles and a white, long-sleeved kimono. It's so simple, yet so eye-catching. I instantly begin to feel inferior in my worn out pants and collared shirt.

"Y-Yes..." I struggle to maintain my grin.

"Oh, I see." The young woman chuckles sweetly, sending my heart into rapid palpitation.

She then cocks her head to the side, as if she is inquiring something.

"I-I'm just strolling through, today's my day-off, y'see." I make haste to explain myself. I don't want to come off as a stalker!

"Ah…" Erika dips her head in understanding.

"Well, since you're here, would you care to join me for some archery?" she quickly suggests, gesturing over to an empty lot of the park. A gaggle of maids decked out in their beige aprons and classy, purple ankle-length dresses huddle amongst themselves in the near distance, whispering and giggling with one another. I can't help but feel pretty sheepish as I wonder if they are perhaps, talking about Erika and myself.

No impossible, we are… too different. We are too mismatched.

"… Brock?" the Grass-type Gym Leader tilts her head daintily to the side, raising one curious eyebrow when I fail to reply her.

"O-OH! M-My bad!" I snap back to the present and place an uncertain hand on the back of my head, feeling too clumsy in her presence.

"Here, I'll show you." Erika mistook my mind-wandering as reluctance, and took my other hand in hers. I feel a spark of electricity jolt up my left arm as the muscles tense themselves at the soft touch. I then allow her to lead me towards the gossiping maids and the singular target that has already been pierced with a couple of arrow heads, all my sense of reason vanishing in the seemingly perfect moment. She is holding _my_ hand (and there aren't any rampaging Pokemon, falling bridges or Team Rocket members in sight). My dirty and bandaged fingers are curled over hers.

When Erika lets go, I am stunned with the sudden emptiness of my hand.

For just a second, though.

Then my feet come planting back down onto soft earth; into reality; and into a frantic flurry of thoughts: Archery?! What the hell was I thinking? I can't do something like that! I don't _do_ long-distance attacking; I'm a fists-kind of guy. The type who lumbers around crazily, swinging my punches anywhere I can. I can't compose myself enough to hold a bow. What if I break the bow or the arrow? Erika will surely think lowly of me, and I can't let that happen! … That would just be too painful.

Without warning, two of the maids waltz up to me and place a bow and an arrow in my hands, before curtsying politely and moving away. I gawk at the two objects in my grip, wondering what I should be doing.

"Like this." Erika takes the bow off her shoulder and draws an arrow from her quiver. In one swift motion, she perches the head of the arrow at the centre of the bow and pulls back the string of the bow to support the projectile. She looks simply magnificent in that posture, her eyes glinting with focus and her arms posed so expertly. I try to mimic her, hastily hooking the end of my arrow and pulling back the bowstring (which has surprisingly firm tension). My elbows stick out awkwardly and my hands tremble uneasily. The Gym Leader lowers her weapon and turns her head slightly so as to get a clearer view of my actions.

Then, she smiles.

"You need to relax, don't let the bow restrict your movements." Her fingers brush against the back of my hand and guide me in the right direction. "No, don't pull too hard, you'll strain the arrow," she continues to teach me, one hand on my arm, urging my muscles to soften their grasp. Her palms are warm and soft; they contrast greatly with my rough, callous skin. And my heart sinks further into the pit in my stomach. The more time I spend with her, the more I feel the distance between us grow; I feel the number of differences we have increasing. We're completely opposite!

"You need balance."

I arch an eyebrow in response to her sudden statement. Erika crosses her hands tightly in front of herself before continuing on.

"You have to understand that you can't have too much strength, neither can you have too little. It's like balance a scale. To obtain the perfect balance, you need to have a perfect amount of two ends of the opposite."

Suddenly, my heart didn't feel quite as painful.

"You have to be gentle, but also firm. In order to hit the target," she explains in a patient voice, before pondering over her words, then breaking out into a pleasant laugh.

"I sound so contradictory…" Erika can't help but chuckle at herself, and as much as I find the scene heart-warming and… cute, I raise my hand in a daring move and place it on her shoulder. "No, you sound perfect. I understand." I speak in an encouraging (and normal) voice, and my friend stops chuckling as she raises her gaze. Our eyes lock for the most precious of moments.

I feel my pulse increasing.

"Like this?" I quickly release my grip from her and try my best to carry on the conversation, raising the bow again. Slowly, cautiously, I pull the arrow back and feel the tension of the string bite into my fingers.

"Right. You have to be patient, you can't be too hasty or you'll miss. Timing is very important." Erika speaks in a serious fashion, pointing me in the direction of the target that stands meters away from the two of us. "Concentrate on hitting the target," she continues on.

"Don't think about the factors that hinder you, like the wind and the accuracy. Most of them really don't matter in the end. The outcome is decided solely by your actions and your willpower." Her words reach me.

My heart begins to rise in my chest.

I release the shot, and see the arrow soar and slice through the thin air as it made for the target. Erika perches a hand on my arm, as the two of us watch on. The arrow lands far from the bulls-eye, piercing itself into the outermost ring of the dartboard-patterned goal. The air escapes from my lungs as I exhale, before shaking my head at the poor accuracy.

"That wasn't too bad for your first try." Erika nods her head (in contrast to me, again). She sounds impressed.

"I guess I just need more practice." I consciously rub my chin, surveying the scene.

"Don't worry about it. It may seem hard now, but you'll improve." She grins and I lower my eyes to the grass in embarrassment.

I want to believe her words, with all my might.

"I always knew it'd be this hard –" I start to say.

"Getting the bulls-eye," Erika suddenly intervenes, and I look up curiously, seeing her tiny back turned to me as she gazes serenely at the open field littering with arrows and maids. Silence drapes itself onto us as I pine away for her to complete her sentence, wondering just what she wants to say.

"- Getting the perfect shot. Isn't it worth all the effort?" she finally speaks, before looking over her shoulder and grinning at me. Her eyes crinkle with kindness and her smile seems to glow. My heart thumps in my ribcage, and I feel that I'm already one step closer to achieving my goal. Perhaps… being opposite wasn't so bad. Perhaps, one day, I'll be able to get that perfect shot with Erika's help.

"…Yes, yes it is."


	4. Cascade : Lance and Clair

**A/N:**

Clair and Lance this time, because Clair's worry and devotion for her dear cousin touches my heart. Whether this comes off as shippy to you is up to your judgement. I was just portraying Clair's love for her childhood companion. & My heart goes out to every one of you readers; your comments inspire me so much.

**World** – Manga  
**Characters** – Lance/Clair (optional Blackthornshipping)  
**Genre** – Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Romance (optional)  
**Note(s)** – Intended to be more platonic rather than romantic

* * *

**Cascade : Lance and Clair**

It happens on the most unexpected of nights. On the night that Pyrce is defeated, on the night of the destruction of the Indigo Plateau and the Gym Leader Tournament. The seasoned woman stands alone in the shadows of the cave, the glowing moonlight spilling gently and dimly into the interior of the damp atmosphere. She hovers wordlessly over the murky waters, a red-and-white ball rolling back and forth in her trained fingers. She contemplates over the idea of training with the Dragons, because the day had been tiring. It had also been worthless.

Blaine doesn't know where Lance is, and her heart cracks at the stinging reminder.

She doesn't feel like battling today. She has fought enough; defending the civilians; and suppressing the Rockets. She just wants to throw in the towel, because now, all hope of leads to her brother is lost. She wills herself not to cry, but allows the devastation to wash over her entire form, because she can't control the aching feeling any longer. No one is around to see the Gym Leader falter as she kneels down and punches her balled hand onto the cavern floor. The echoes that resound blend in with her shouts a little too well.

Then, there is a swish of a cape.

"That doesn't sound like the Clair I know." The words pierce her world, shattering it into indefinite shards of glass. She jumps to her feet and swivels around lightning-fast. She recognises the warm familiarity of the voice. Her voice renders itself useless as she dashes towards the silhouette at the entrance of the cave and tackles it with a large, welcoming hug. Clair pecks the left cheek of her cousin as a bright smile touches her face, and her spirits begin to lift. He finally came back to her.

Lance maintains his cool reserve and returns the embrace with the firmest arms and the smallest of grins. When the Gym Leader is pleased, she breaks apart from him and beams right into his dark eyes. She hungrily scrutinizes him, drinking in the vision before her. It isn't her imagination. She knows that his hair is meant to be that captivating shade of crimson, and his eyes will always be the colour of chestnuts. He is really standing before her with that characteristically smug grin painted on his finely-chiselled face. "... Lance, you've grown taller." She laughs loudly, because she doesn't know what else to say. He now stands half a head taller than her, and as ebullient as she is that he had matured into a fine young man, she can't help but remember that the last time they had met, he was still a fair bit shorter.

The man acknowledges the statement with a nod.

"I came to see you –"

_For the last time_, she is almost afraid that he will say that.

"– Because you were one of the things that made my childhood worth living. I treasure you."

Why do his kindly words make her feel so sad?

"I love you too, Lance. But.." Clair hesitates, because she fears his answer.

"... But what do you mean? I don't get you." She reluctantly inquires, her eyes brimming with concern.

"I have to go," Lance says in a solemn tone. She comprehends those four words, and the message isn't good. And she can tell that he isn't happy about the situation either.

"No," Clair responds swiftly, her reply instinctive as her hands reach out for his. "Stay here, Lance," she urges him in a desperate tone, curling her gloved fingers about his icy cold palms. "Blackthorn will protect you," She states, her eyebrows furrowing.

"Clair, I can't burden you and your hometown with my wrongdoings," Lance reasons in a tired voice, but his hand remains limp within her hopeful grasp.

"But..." she tries and tries and tries to think of a solution; any way to solve the idiotic problem of her cousin's tiny slip-up that occurred a couple of years ago. But she fails, and the reality of Lance's words stabs at her gut unrelentingly. She painfully realises that she is troubling him with her impossible whims.

"If you understand me, you'll let me go," The man says in a softened voice, lowering his gaze so that it falls on her face. And she can't say anything else because the saddened look he is giving her makes her feel so selfish; so guilty.

"I do Lance, I do."

He smiles. It is sincere. It is relieved.

"Good."

And she feels like their good-bye has come too soon.

"But when will I see you again?" She involuntarily tightens her grip on his hand just as he begins to shift away.

Lance offers her the most apologetic and emotional grin in the entire world. She feels her heart crumble even more, and it stings.

"When the time is ripe."

His fingers slip out of hers too easily. And his raven cape flaps majestically as he turns his back and takes his leave. Clair rushes out of the cave after him, reaching out a terrified hand and begins to grasp the air as she attempts to grab onto her brother. If only for the last time. But she misses his elbow by the shortest of inches as he leaps off the bank and onto his waiting Dragonair.

"I love you, Clair. Stay safe."

"Lance! Lance!" The tears explode from her eyes as she calls out to her dearest companion, but her cries fall onto a silent body standing atop a surfing Dragonair. Lance never looks back as he and his Pokemon ride off into the dark abyss of the never-ending ocean, the moon casting its glow onto their forms. The beautiful scene tears her to pieces, and the moistness in her eyes blurs her vision. It makes her cry even more, because she can't even see her brother in their final parting moments.

"_LANCE_...!"

She weeps as the heart wrenching memories of their seemingly wonderful childhood plays like a melancholic film in her throbbing head. She rips them to shreds, because she knows that they will never return. And neither will Lance. The news shakes her shoulders and makes her sniff her nose like a tiny little girl. The tears will not stop sluicing down her reddening face and she cups her eyes while she lowers her shaking body into a squatting position. And she sheds all the sadness in the world. Because she does not think Time will ever be ripe for him again – and he knows it too.

So the tears just keep coming.


	5. Heat : Brawly and Roxanne

**A/N:**

Because Rocksmashshipping is cute.

... I wonder if Roxanne is IC. Please tell me. (and she said 'Brawly' a lot XD)

**World** – Manga  
**Characters** – Brawly/Roxanne (Rocksmashshipping)  
**Genre** – Romance, Friendship  
**Note(s) **– This pairing needs moar love? Like, loads more?

* * *

**Heat : Brawly and Roxanne**

"See ya'." The Team Magma member with the long skirt waved a casual hand in her direction, before a Swellow clamped its talons over her shoulders and lifted her out of the Lilycove Inn. In the distance, Roxanne could hear the loud, rumbling footsteps of Groundon lumbering toward Sootopolis City, but she could only lean her forehead against her injured Nosepass and let the tears sluice down her pallid face. She had failed, and now Hoenn was crumbling further towards destruction because of her; because of her failure to halt the Legendary's advance; because of her failure to live up to her name of Gym Leader.

Her Cradily cooed painfully at her side, reaching out a petal to tap her shoulder in encouragement. However, Roxanne did not budge. She didn't know what else she could do. All her plans, all her carefully thought out ideas and tactics and plans of action were all washed down the drain. She couldn't think of anything constructive, or useful to do. It was no use.

"T-Thanks lady." The shortest man clad in the white robes blinked, his tone apologetic.

"Sorry for..." The second, skinny man drifted away, too embarrassed to continue.

"Are you alone?" the man with the largest build inquired, his brow furrowing.

Then something clicked in Roxanne's head.

"Brawly! Wallace!" She shouted out in a frantic tone, jumping to her feet and looking around the massive holes the battle between her and Marge had created in the roof of the inn. She saw the Department Store where Wallace was battling with one of the other Three Fires. Then, a Metagross appeared out of the blue in the darkening sky, and she squinted her eyes in confusion. The young woman glimpsed the flapping white of a cape, and immediately recognized it as the Champion's cloak. _Good_, Wallace was safe then.

"Which means – " She picked up her thick book from the floor and opened it to reveal two Pokéballs resting within the pages. She quickly withdrew her unconscious Nosepass and waiting Cradily before placed the red-and-white spheres back into her book.

"– I have to go help Brawly," she firmly informed herself, feeling the worry beginning to surpass for initial sorrow. She wiped the remnants of moisture from her eyes with one rough hand, before turning to the three civilians. "You three, there's an airship in the vicinity, make your way there quietly… And avoid trouble," she instructed them, baring a stern tone and a displeased glare, causing the three men to shiver and nod vigorously in understanding.

Roxanne swiftly turned and fled the room, bursting through the rickety old door of the inn and out onto the smoking and debris-filled streets of the once magnificent city of Lilycove. She hurriedly dashed down the walkways and avoided the large rubble and small fires that had broken out. It was a horrid mess, but she decided to deal with it later. What was important now was Brawly's safety. As carefree and as work-intolerant that person was... She couldn't help admit she had a soft spot for him. Maybe it was the way he smiled at her, or the way he calmly took in everything; whether it was good or bad.

She rounded a corner and met with a face full of smoke. The woman coughed in annoyance as the thick fumes filled her lungs. She brushed the grey air away from her face and bolted through the entrance of the city's museum. To her horror, large, intimidating cracks lined the walls of the interior of the building, and the paintings were either lopsided, hanging loosely or thrown carelessly on the tiled floor. Some of the artwork had been burnt, quarters and halves of canvas reduced to piles of ash and cinder on the dusty floor. The woman ignored the sight, the intense worry fuelling her legs as she jogged across the lobby and down the indicated corridors that led her to more charred paintings, hissing fires and burnt walls. Her spine shivered and she held her breath as she rushed down the hallway, carefully avoiding the debris. Roxanne gripped her book to her chest and felt her heart hammering furiously inside her ribcage. Beads of sweat trickled down from her forehead, and she licked her lips in the dry air. Then, her unblinking gaze rested on a particular section of the wall that was lined with numerous jagged cracks. The Rock type Gym Leader didn't need to examine it for long to realise that the indent was surely created from a punch, a punch from the fist of a well-trained Hariyama.

"Brawly!" She began to shout.

"_Brawly_!" Desperation surged through her veins.

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Where was he? Was he safe?

Roxanne wasn't jogging, she was running now. Dashing madly down the rows of damaged artworks, clutching her book close to her as her hazel hair danced in the hot atmosphere, her cheeks shining with a sheen of cold sweat. She skidded to a halt as the pathway that lay ahead blazed with a licking fire. The flames that ate at the walls of the museum were emanating intense heat and danger; given a choice, Roxanne would have avoided such a hazardous area.

"Shi-! Brawly...!" She bit her chaffed lip and restrained spouting a swear word, because she was a prim and proper lady. But... did she have to venture further within the building? Surely Brawly wasn't there, because the fires were huge and untamed, the damage beyond the wall of crimson that barred her seemed massive. No one could have survived that. The Dewford Gym Leader was somewhere else, yes – _thud_ – "Brawly?" Roxanne raised an eyebrow as she began to turn away from the flames, glimpsing a shadow shifting in between the roaring embers.

No reply.

"Brawly?" the woman echoed with uncertainty, because she did not want to believe that her dear comrade was there.

_Thud_. The slight movement of a weak arm. Slight; but more than enough.

Roxanne's book flung itself open and she launched a Pokeball towards the fire. The mechanism of the sphere clicked into motion and a Cradily tumbled out in a flash of red. The emerald plant extended its large violet petals and parted the fire without much of an effort, its rock hard texture immune to the burning inferno. The woman took the chance and charged through the tiny opening her faithful Pokemon had created.

Her brow furrowed and her chestnut eyes began to fill themselves with furious tears as they fell onto the body of a badly injured man and his unconscious Hariyama. Brawly was leaning feebly against the wall, both his arms resting on either side; his fragile legs sprawled out on the floor. He was covered in ugly bruises, markings that blemished his otherwise perfect face. A pair of nun chucks scattered themselves next to his body, and they rolled aside as Roxanne collapsed next to her friend, her book clattering loudly on the tiles of the museum.

"Brawly!" she screamed, even though he was right next to her. He was, wasn't he? The lady reached out with trembling hands and felt his chin, his strong arms, before resting her palms on his shoulders. Yes, he was breathing, as shallow as the small motion was, Brawly was breathing. He was alright. Of course, he was. This was him! Kind and hardworking Brawly, trustworthy and strong and determined to a fault Brawly. Roxanne felt her heart move painfully in her chest as she scrutinized the male Gym Leader and the tears rolled down her reddening cheeks. She had never realised how much Brawly meant to her. Never.

"C-Come on, say something," she coaxed the man.

"Anything, just show me you're here," Roxanne pleaded, tugging at the edge of her horribly dirtied dress. It was now more black than blue. "Surfing," the woman suddenly piped up, blinking her eyes as she angled herself towards the resting body. "You like surfing, don't you?" she inquired, before closing her mouth in a frown when Brawly did not reply.

"Take me surfing one day, please." The woman took a firm hold of one wounded hand and ran a warm thumb over the injured skin. It was a last attempt to get Brawly to awaken, because if he made a promise now, Roxanne believed that he would keep it. He wasn't the type to lie, and he'd survive this ordeal, and he'd take her out one day. He just had to. She wouldn't allow anyone else. Not the students in her class nor another other male on the Earth, for that matter. It could have only been him. A few drops of sadness landed silently on the back of Brawly's bruised fingers.

The man began to rouse as the water washed over his hand.

"W-Woah.. water?" the man softly muttered through closed eyes, his tone surprised. It was as if he hadn't felt the cooling sensation of water in a long while. Roxanne's face lit up immediately, a relieved smile painting itself upon her initially sorrowful features.

"Roxanne?" Brawly cracked open an eye with much difficulty.

"Yes. I'm here." The woman was beaming, small tears trickling down from her joyous eyes.

"Are you crying?" He raised his eyebrows, gaining back some vigour in the process. His surroundings became clearer. Everything was burning with red hot flames, Roxanne seemed like the only thing that wasn't consumed with fire. Her face, although happy, was black with ash and her long, curling hair was in a mess. Yet... she still managed to look captivating.

"W-What are you talking about?!" Roxanne's defences sprang up and she rapidly wiped the tears off his hand with an indignant palm. Then, she proceeded to carefully lift one of his arms around her shoulders. "Hurry up. I was just waiting for you to wake up. It will be easier to walk like this," she snapped at him and urged the man slowly onto his two feet. It was hard to suppress the emotion of pure elation within her body, but she did it.

Brawly couldn't help but crack a smile.

"Thanks Roxanne." He lauded the embarrassed woman as he withdrew his injured Hariyama into its rightful Pokéball.

".... You're welcome, then," Roxanne said with a sulk, deliberately avoiding his gaze as the two staggered towards the patient Cradily. The Rock-type Pokémon extended one large appendage and slammed it onto the flames, until the embers faltered and shrank. The intelligent creature then took the nun chucks and book that belonged to either Gym Leader into its limbs.

_Sigh_. It just had to be the one who picked up everything around the messed up joint.

When the duo and ancient plant finally made it out of the museum, Roxanne took the book under one arm while Brawly stuffed the small weapon into his pocket. The Cradily disappeared into minute particles as the woman returned it into a Pokéball for a well deserved rest. The two then surveyed the surroundings, leaning their weight against each other. Large chunks of debris were still dotting the entire vicinity, and plumes of black smoke clouded the air. The Pokémon Association's airship was nowhere in sight. Roxanne sighed while Brawly ran a hand through his sky blue hair.

"Let's go." Roxanne pulled him forward, and they teetered and tottered down the street, balancing their bodies against each other as Brawly limped. They didn't know where the airship was, and they didn't know where they were headed to. But the one thing, the one thing that was sure was they had each other all the way.

"Hey, Roxanne," Brawly suddenly said, and the woman acknowledged him with the nod of a head.

"I promise. We'll go surfing. One day, when this crisis is over. When the skies are blue and the seas are calm again." He smiled in a dashing way, and Roxanne couldn't help but feel her cheeks grow hot. Was it because of the neighbouring fires? Yes, it must have been.

"Alright," she agreed, lowering her gaze to the gravel of the road. She didn't want Brawly to see her blushing.

The man grinned warmly, and the aches in his joints didn't seem so painful after all. He had Roxanne at his side to care for him. It was her. Reliable and smart Roxanne, beautiful and benevolent and decisive to a fault Roxanne. His heart beat loudly in his chest each time they stumbled along the street, because he could feel her affectionate hands tightening their grip as she picked them up again. He didn't know where they were headed, but one thing was for sure.

Brawly never broke a promise, and Roxanne would never miss a scheduled appointment.

It was a date.


	6. Boulder : Lorelei and Bruno

**A/N:**

Wow, there's quite a few requests among the reviews. Do not fear, I'm working on Firestone and Graceful prompts now (: But you guys might have to wait for a little longer for them to be posted, since I haven't fleshed out the plot for the prompts yet. Oh, and _Crazy Packers Fan_, do not fret; I'm fine with doing non-manga pairings too. I myself am fond of Mosshipping. Cynthia/Lucian seems feasible, so do look out for it (:

I love writing from Lorelei's POV. She reminds me of Sabrina, in many ways. Both are incredibly beautiful and deadly, and probably are masters of manipulation, and well... Hmmm, I shan't spoil you guys :3

**World **– Manga  
**Characters** – Lorelei/Bruno  
**Genres **– General, Romance  
**Note(s)** – nil

* * *

**Boulder : Lorelei and Bruno**

She chuckled softly to herself as she snapped her compact shut with a click.

Lorelei thought that she was someone who was easy to please. She didn't require much to satisfy her and tickle her fancy. All she needed was her favourite spot on a firm, grey boulder that was perched high above a certain someone's training area; and of course, Bruno himself. He looked so devastatingly handsome among the craggy rocks and gravel. Even if he was a musclehead, he was a _hot_ musclehead. The Ice Type expert was drawn to him the moment the Elite Four had been assembled. He had looked her way; and after that, dared to turn away; even though they had made eye contact, Bruno didn't seem the least bit interested in her.

So she couldn't wait to sink her teeth into him.

"Here, a present from me." Lorelei casually waltzed up to him one fine day, after yet another gruelling training session came to an end. She held up a pair of spiked, black armbands in one lazy and finely-manicured hand. Her gaze wandered the vicinity; determined not to meet with his focused eyes; determined to keep her icy cool reserve intact.

"W-What? Lorelei, you shouldn't have." Bruno seemed hesitant to accept the sudden gift.

"Maybe," the violet-haired woman brooded before shoving the present against his firm, rock-hard chest. The female then spun around and began to trot away, folding her arms and elegantly placing both hands on under either elbow. She had to control herself from melting like jelly. Bruno's body was warm to the touch; it had nearly melted her cold aloofness. Just nearly.

"T-Thank you!" the man called out in gratitude, and her lips curved secretively as she silently departed the rocky terrain.

When Bruno became interested in a rising young talent in the Kanto region, Lorelei had seethed with jealously. Scarlet – no, Red – was drawing his attention away from her. He became more consumed in his training, and that left no room for her to spend time with him. Or at least, even try to. Lorelei just wouldn't stand for it. She wanted to be the one who fuelled that passionate drive of Bruno's, the one who made him sweat so sexily, the one who made him yell out in frustration. The woman's blood bubbled and boiled as she tapped her high-heeled foot on the rocky boulder that she had claimed as her own. He hardly noticed her rage and barely even gave her a glance as she studied him sparring with his Hitmonchan and Hitmonlee.

Lorelei stomped away from the training-obsessed man, and even then, Bruno did not bother to toss her a second gander. How annoying, Red was getting in her way.

A few days later, Lady Luck kicked herself into action as Lance droned in his bored, monotonic voice: "Dispose of Red. He will be a pest in our plan." And Lorelei had never agreed with her leader even more. Better yet, she could test out the... gift... she had given Bruno. She sat herself down with a paper and pen in hand, and began to write a letter of challenge to the brat.

She just couldn't wait to see his demise.

The battle was bloody and violent and entertainingly destructive. She grinned as she watched from her favourite boulder. Red had put up a brave front and a gallant effort, but he was no match against a brain-washed and senseless Bruno. Emotions always held a person back, which was why Lorelei usually remained reticent. She was a professional. Bruno on the other hand, fought with feelings, which wasn't a trait that a member of the Elite Four should've possessed. Well, truthfully speaking, he hadn't _willingly_ joined the gang, but details didn't really matter now. Lorelei was helping him by erasing his mind for just the duration of the battle. It was a favour.

She froze the pitiful child and his Pokemon soon after the battle came to its decisive end and the dust had settled over the fray. A miniscule and badly wounded Pikachu had managed to flee. "But no matter," Lorelei dismissed. It was of no threat.

The armbands worked, and everything was going according to plan. Perfect.

That night, she approached him as he sat alone in the middle of the rock infested field. His hands clutched tightly over his throbbing head while the spikes caught the moonlight of the glowing crescent hanging in the dark blanket of the sky; they glinted evilly. Lorelei regarded him in trained silence, her arms comfortably folded as she stood at his side.

"Lorelei.." Bruno spoke, his voice wavering. The woman wanted to embrace him, to wrap her arms tightly around him in that moment alone. His voice was so deep, so pained and so vulnerable. But no, she couldn't do something so foolish, she'd have to be patient, bide her time and strike at the right moment. The woman kept to herself, remaining wordless.

"I keep having these weird headaches. I black out and... I can't remember what happened this afternoon. Was I battling with someone...?" The man ran his large fingers roughly through his mass of raven hair with irritation. Lorelei lowered herself to his side and placed a careful hand on his bare shoulder, waiting for him to finally lift his head from the floor to meet with her face.

"Hush now. It's alright. I am here."

She placed a firm finger on his lips, and parted her mouth to smile in the warmest way she could ever muster. They were close now, very close, faces only inches apart. Lorelei raised her other hand, and off her black spectacles slid from her face. She blinked her eyes and stared seductively at him, slowly growing lost in Bruno's intense gaze.

"Nothing can happen to you now."

She couldn't wait for his lips to find hers.

Lorelei's heart did a little flip when Bruno returned the kiss, and she drowned in the passion and the intensity of it all, in the sea of the man's pent up emotions – affection that had been long neglected; fury that hadn't been unleashed; and the sheer rush of hormones. She placed a hand on his neck as he gripped onto the small of her back, the edge of her sleek dress hitching high up above her knee. She smiled against his rough lips. A pair of dark glasses clattered loudly on gravel, but the sound seemed surreal.

Lorelei couldn't wait for the day she could confidently release those handcuffs from his wrists. She couldn't wait to see him returning to her side using his own free will.

She simply couldn't wait.


	7. Relic : Oak and Agatha

**A/N:**The irony in **Boulder **was very much intended. Glad some of you caught that ;D Anyway, here's an Oak x Agatha prompt. Because their pairing is made of win.

**World **– Manga  
**Characters** – Oak/Agatha (Expertshipping)  
**Genres** – Angst, Romance  
**Note(s)** - nil

* * *

Relic : Oak and Agatha

_You just had to be stupid._

You just had to throw away all your potential.

Tch. Though it's not like I ever cared about what you did with your wasted life. But you could have been a great trainer. Possibly even a Champion of the Pokémon League; but no, you just had to put the Pokéballs aside one day when we were all seated together – it was the same routine as always, we'd gather together once in a while to catch up with each other, to secure our friendship. Not that I ever liked that bothersome tradition. I only went because I had nothing else to do. Don't misunderstand.

Anyway, as I was saying, we were huddled together in our usual clique, everyone chattering incessantly. Everyone but me, of course – I don't chatter. I converse.

"I don't feel like battling anymore." You interjected the dialogues with a perfunctory tone. The mellow, indifference in your voice sent my blood boiling with anger. How you ever managed to say something so impactful in the most nonchalant of ways, I'll never know. After all the shouts and outrage and jabbing questions from everyone – excluding me – died away, you cleared your throat and explained : You wanted to get involved in research, test out innovative experiments, and study Pokémon instead of train them. "Tch." Was all that ever came from me that afternoon, because you didn't deserve my support or my sympathy. You were going to screw up your own life, and it wasn't anyone's fault but yours.

But I'll admit that you were a worthy rival.

Were.

We began to trickle out of your everyday life because you became consumed in useless paperwork and meaningless equations; those impossible predictions and nonsensical discoveries. Pretty soon, we broke apart because you weren't there to hold us together. Don't you get it? You were the glue that kept us intact. Not that it matters to me; I never really mixed well with that bunch of lively idiots. The point is that you were engulfed in your own dreams and goals. You threw away your career as a Star Trainer.

Didn't you realise what was in front of you, waiting?

_**&**__**&**_

You just had to be stupid.

You just had to marry that undeserving woman.

I did not attend the wedding. And for your information, I threw away that sickening invitation card. Didn't you get it? No one could have ever belonged by your side. You outshined practically everyone in a room with that body, those eyes and worst of all, that magnetic and gregarious personality – that I have always, always found incredibly repulsive and annoying, thank you very much. Your smile used to beam with confidence. As intelligent as you were; as popular as you were; no one could have truly fit perfectly with you. You were too gifted, too elite, and far too superior, no one could have matched up to you.

But you went with the plan anyway, blinded by affection. Tch, to think that your grandson actually defeated me. Twice, in fact. He fights like you. His physical attacks managed to slice through my beautiful ghosts. I must be getting too old for Pokémon battling, but at least I never gave up, at least I persevered; unlike you. Together, we could have sculpted your grandson, we could have made him into a real Champion; he wouldn't have lost to Red at the Indigo Plateau.

Wait, no. What am I spouting? I sound like a delusion old hag. I'd never want to share a grandchild with you. That was a crazy and insane thought. I don't want anything to do with you now, got that clear? You know – it was you, you were the delusion one. It was never me. Why did you pick her? Why did you marry her?

Didn't you realise that the only thing that could balance out with your shining talent, was someone who resided in the shadows of the darkness, waiting?

Kurt grows old by his smelly apricots and noisy grandchildren. The lovebirds set up a successful day care that is flooded with crying infants and annoying brat trainers. Pyrce departs to become a crazed old coot that obsesses himself with Time. Haha, what a notion. If time travelling ever works, hitch me a ride, please. I wouldn't mind revisiting the past, when we wrote "Riding on the Stars" together. The lyrics were mushy, but meaningful, I guess; it wasn't something I'd ever expect from Kurt and that goof. The song the two of us composed together was relaxing, but a waste of time. I remember sitting at the keyboard, with you at my side, strumming your guitar.

Those memories are worthless; they only remind me of how I exhausted my youth, waiting for something that would never – will never – come. But sometimes, at this creaky old age, you just can't help but sink into your own thoughts and reflect on how much you've aged and how your life has played out. And you can't help it if a stray tear rolls down your cheek, because you're old, you're delusion and you're just hopeless – until the very end.

Didn't you realise that I have never stopped, waiting?

You just had to be stupid.

You just had to make me fall in love with you.

**&&**

Agatha crushes up the paper with one shivering hand and tosses it carelessly towards the waste basket situated at a dark corner of the room. The wad of white misses its target and lands in a small pile of other discarded letters.

"Tch."


	8. Fen : Steven and Flannery

**A/N:**

The requested Candlestick (yep, I checked the shipping list on Serebii for the name) fic is here.

But I don't think it's well done at all, compared to the other ones I've seen floating around D: I just can't help but picture Steven to be someone who's really intelligent and capable as a Champion, but a complete block of wood when it comes to romance. Poor Flannery ;_;

-runs off to hide in a corner with a metal pot over her head-

**World** – Manga  
**Characters** – Steven/Flannery (Candlestickshipping)  
**Genres** – Romance, Humour  
**Note(s)** – Requested by _manhattan_, _Clover _and _Sapphire  
_

* * *

**Fen : Steven and Flannery  
**noun  
- a low land **covered partially or wholly** in water; boggy land; a marsh.

Puff by puff, thick billows of steam wafted from the crater of Mount Chimney and mingled with the fresh countryside air. It was easy to tell despite the glassy surface of the window between him and the mountain. He scrutinized the dormant volcano in the distance for just a moment more, before reverting back to the documents resting before him, scratching the tip of his poised pen against the walls of text imprinted on the pasty white papers. He was writing down more observations again, and filling his investigations with added notes in scrawled, cursive handwriting. He cancelled out a paragraph of words, added in a sentence of two, then crossed out a misplaced word. No, no, something was wrong, everything wasn't agreeing with everything – nothing was agreeing with nothing. His steel-grey eyes swept over a piece of paper; before he crushed the report and tossed it accurately into a grey bin sulking at a dark corner of the study room. _Clunk!_ The wad of paper gave its last cry before it was disposed.

"Ace shot," a female's voice chimed from the doorway.

Steven smiled weakly as he peered over the supporting back of the wooden chair he was occupying to see a redhead leaning against the doorframe, clad in her usual black shirt and baggy jeans. She replied his smile with a toothy grin, holding up a cup of what he presumed was caffeine. Flannery hardly drank coffee; it was uncommon to see her holding a cup of the fluid. "Again, sorry for barging in like this unexpectedly," he apologised to the owner of the gym, before returning to his papers, flitting through piece after piece as he sunk back into his research. Flannery approached his side and placed the steaming mug on the timbered table, resting an elbow on the back of his chair. The wooden old furniture squeaked loudly in protest.

"It's alright," she comforted the man who was now hunched over his work. She raised a questioning eyebrow at the concentration Steven was administering to his documents. With his furrowed brow, focused eyes and impassive lip, she couldn't help but find him dashing. Yet, the fact that he was giving off a detached vibe made her worry, it felt like he was there physically – but his mind was completely consumed elsewhere. He looked like such a workaholic. "What's got you all worked up about?" Flannery inquired, her eyes leaving Steven so that she could view the gigantic volcano positioned before Fallabor's gym.

Steven ran a hand through his grey hair as he tapped the blunt end of his pen repeatedly against the surface of the desk. He was particularly confused over a set of data that had been passed down by the Devon Corporation a week ago, their research on the volcano's characteristics just did not seem to tally with his findings. Was the volcano gradually changing, or was this a natural cycle that it would have to undergo in order to fully recover from the titanic clash between Groudon and Kyogre?

"Hello? Steven?" Flannery had a displeased hand on her hip and an upturned mouth.

"Yes?" he half-heartedly acknowledged as he thumbed through a stack of files he had placed to the side of the table.

"I asked what's all the big commotion about," she informed him pointedly, clearly unhappy that the man wasn't paying much attention to her.

"The volcano's acting abnormal, and I can't seem to understand why, even though I've spent the last five days here." The words tumbled messily out of his mouth as his attention remained firmly glued elsewhere.

"Seven," Flannery corrected him absentmindedly.

"Right," Steven nodded as he threw another wad of paper at the lonely dustbin with deft precision.

"How did the volcano revive itself after dying out? Was it Groudon? Yes, it must have been…" The man considered his words as he scribbled furiously over a blank page of lined paper. The female at his side started to open her mouth to attempt to speak, but the Stone Getter injected firmly, "Yet, we've no proof to ascertain that. And why did Groudon do it?" Soon after, he stroked out a chunk of words from the notepad he had been writing on and continued to deliberate over the matter, comparing readings of the Mount Chimney's daily temperatures and volcanic activity between his two hands.

"Steve', you can be such a goof," Flannery laughed a little too loudly as she slapped a hand onto the shoulder of his ironed suit. He flinched slight under the warm of the lady's palm. "Don't you think that some things don't really need clear answers?" she offered her opinion, and the grey-haired male looked up from the desk and stared at the redhead with a look of pure disbelief. Was that even plausible?

"You know, like how you don't need to ask questions to get the answer you want?" A smile tugged at the corners of her cherry lips as her crimson hair burned aflame behind her. His eyebrows raised so much so that they disappeared under his ashen bangs. First; he couldn't understand how the girl could've thought in such a way. Questioning the world and searching for answers was essentially his job, and one that he was fond of, mind you. Second; he couldn't understand why he found her captivating under the bleak, fluorescent lights of the room.

Stones; he could examine and experiment with; evaluate; and even discern their contents.

Women; were another matter altogether.

Flannery caught a glimpse of his stunned expression, and the picturesque smile faltered from her face before it disappeared, replaced by a soft sigh and saddened eyes. "You know, Steven, sometimes, it'd hurt too much to know the answer." She chewed her lower lip. "So you don't even bother asking anyway," the female mumbled, as her fingers unclasped themselves from his shoulder. He stared at her for a while, as her chestnut eyes wandered the room, a certain gloom flickering in their depths. Had he done something wrong? He hadn't even said anything to the girl. Were these possibly the mood swings Wallace had once mentioned; the ones Winona suffered from time and time again?

"Miss Flannery! There's a challenger waiting out in the front!" a loud voice bellowed from down the hallway, causing the female to snap out of her daydream. "Looks like I've got to go." She waved goodbye to the immobile Steven as she began to walk out the door, looking brand new and chipper as she shook off the initial downcast lingering over her body.

"Nice Fire Stone, by the way," she added on with a teasing wink, before exiting out of the room. Her heavy footsteps resounded through the corridors as she made her way to another battle, and to possibly give out another Heat Badge. Steven stared at the empty doorway for a few silent seconds, still contemplating her words. He moved a hand to the metal belt around his waist, and lifted up the beautiful Fire Stone that Flannery had pointed out. He ran a thumb over the rocky mass that was shaped uncannily like a flame.

As he examined the evolution stone, he heard obvious noise coming from beyond the door, of which consisted the barely audible scream of a flustered girl, and then hasty replies of a man. Was it the challenger making a ruckus?

Steven reverted back to his desk, and the mountains of paperwork piled up – yet something gnawed at him. "… Questions which don't need answers," he spoke as if he had just emerged from a sea of fascinated cognition. The young male blinked once, twice, ran his eyes over the cup of warm coffee, and his shoulder where her hand had perched. It barely tingled with her warmth. He then placed a hand to his forehead as Flannery's words echoed in his mind, flushing out the previous flurry of information he was trying to digest. Away went the figures and statistics of the confusing volcano, instantly replaced by preoccupation with the queer redhead.

The coffee; the concern; the words (had he really spent seven days with her and not noticed?), Flannery obviously had something on her mind, and she'd wanted to share it with him too. But he was too busy with his work to even notice. No wonder she had had such a disappointed look on her face. Steven planted his cheek onto the wooden table and exhaled a stressing breath of air.

"I'll ask her properly later," he instructed himself.

And, even if things didn't go according to plan and Flannery was still upset, he knew two ways to cheer the lady up.

He'd seen Wallace and Winona argue before (when they were still an item), and one kiss on the cheek was all it took for Winona to simmer down (no, Steven was most certainly not _spying_ on the couple, he just… happened to know). But, kissing, even on the cheek, was such a daring move – could he really do it to a comrade like Flannery? Was Flannery even a comrade? Was she something more? What was it about her that made him think of her now; that bell-like laugh, or those caring eyes… or perhaps, that fiery personality? Had he been neglecting all of that in place of his research?

Steven released a perplexed sigh.

Or... he could just give her the Fire Stone.


	9. Zephyr : Wallace and Winona

**A/N:  
**Gracefulshipping is made of 22 flavours of Awesome! I hope I did well with this piece. Apologies in advance for the random jumping that is about to occur. Next chapter will have completely nothing to do with the Gym Leaders or the Elite Four, yay for variety.

**World** – Manga  
**Character** – Wallace/Winona (Gracefulshipping)  
**Genres** – Romance, Hurt/Comfort  
**Note(s)** – Requested by _RWT_,_ Clover_, _Sora_ and _Sapphire_

* * *

**Zephyr : Wallace and Winona**

_She was a gust of wind._

That was the first impression he had of her.

She appeared without a sound, like a gentle breeze that caught his eye with just one sweep of her long veil of violet hair.

He didn't know if it was fate; luck; coincidence; or just a combination of all three. He just remembered looking up from the Sealeo he had been so diligently engaged with (its skin wasn't sparkling as much as it should have) – and seeing _her_. Someone must have been pulling cosmic strings of circumstance, because there was no other way he could have spotted her in the sea of bustling people that flooded the halls of the Pokémon League that day. (But that wasn't entirely true – because she stood out so much with that perfectly chiselled face alone, and her shoulder-length hair practically _glowed._) He was surprised that she seemed to be alone, with only a tiny Swablu perched on her dainty shoulder. He found himself getting onto his feet and walking towards her, his Sealeo trailing dutifully after him. He didn't know why, but he wanted to get to know her.

He didn't know how to approach a female – girls usually approached him instead. So he just took a carefree swing and prayed for a homerun (or at least, not a strikeout). "Um, hello." He dug one hand into the pocket of his purple Bermudas and waved a limp hand at her. The young girl turned to face him, a puzzled expression on her elegant face. She looked no older than fourteen – fifteen, at most. "Yes?" she replied, obviously apprehensive that a complete stranger had approached her.

"You're here to watch the League?" He attempted to spark a topic, hoping to cultivate a friendship of some sort.

"I'm here to participate," the beautiful girl replied dryly, before deciding to look away.

Wait – hold up – so she was a Pokémon Trainer. Not a Coordinator. And though that news gloomed him ever so slightly, it was no big deal; he liked battling as well. (Just… not as much as contests. That was why he had tickets as a spectator for the League.) And he could get competitive in Pokémon Battling too if he wanted to. It was all a matter of how keen he could be when broaching the subject. He knew he was a competent Trainer. (It was just that he was an even more competent Coordinator.) He stared down at the Sealeo seated idly at his feet; so much beauty – and so much power at the same time. And he made his choice at that very instant.

"... So am I." He smiled at her.

He thought he'd seen her rosy cheeks redden, but it was hard to tell the difference. But his mind was at ease as she acknowledged him with a gruff "I see." Though he certainly hadn't hit a homerun, he was safe, and that was all that mattered.

**&**

"Winona!" he called out her name, waving an amiable hand as he closed the distance between them. The female teenager, one hand busy stroking the slender neck of her sizable Altaria, moved to face him, a calm greeting smile spreading on her face. That very action alone seemed to cause her to shine, lighting the dimmest corners of the reception room in the Pokémon Association.

"Trying again this year?" she inquired with a knowing voice.

"Hasn't that always been the case?" he replied with a grin.

Her hair was longer now, falling gently to the middle of her slim back.

"You know, you never told me why you wanted to become a Gym Leader," Winona said, leaning against the clouded body of her large Flying-type companion. His voice became unexplainably stuck in his throat at this point, because he had nearly wanted to admit that the answer had always been – and would always be – _her_. But he stopped himself in the nick of time. (Because there was no way she felt the same way about him, it was impossible.) He attempted to switch the direction of the conversation. "What about you? You should tell me first, since your answer would probably make a lot more sense than mine," he laughed weakly, and she raised an amused eyebrow.

"Because... I want to be able to do something useful with myself. Be someone helpful, have meaning in what I do, you know. And as a Gym Leader, I could contribute my efforts." She shrugged her shoulders and the modest gesture made his heart palpitate at a rapid pace. It was such a selfless reason, and her humble words warmed him inside out. It made him feel incredibly selfish in contrast. To think that he had only concentrated on attaining the position of Gym Leader to get close to her, it seemed like such a silly reason now. He hadn't even considered the responsibility and time such a job would entail.

"That's my simple reason." Winona's lips curved perfectly.

And he realised, that he didn't really mind all the hype.

"And you? You've got to tell me your reason now, no excuses this time." Her voice was suddenly sharp and acutely alert. The young lady had cornered him, and she was right – there was no escape for him this time. He tucked a stray strand of aquamarine behind his ear, coughing loudly as he pretended to clear his throat in order to buy himself more time. The girl's Altaria chirped, blinking curiously at him.

By now, Winona was getting agitated from all the dawdling.

"Well? What is it?" She stepped away from her Pokémon and started to close in on him, hands glued firmly to her hips, creasing the blue flight suit she wore. "I can't say, sorry," he replied, placing two defensive hands between her and him. The young female frowned unhappily, her eyes glinting with suspicion. "Why not?" She probed obstinately, causing him to break out in an awkward sweat. She was dangerously close to him, so much so that he could count the lashes of her captivating eyes, and he could faintly detect the sweet scent of feathers and lilacs. He became self conscious; did he still stink of powdery make-up from grooming his Pokémon in the morning?

"Personal reasons." He stepped away from her, revelling in his self-control; yet wanting so much to give himself a good kick for widening the distance between him and the attractive female. Winona took only one step forward to bridge the small gap created.

"Like?" she asked with a demanding voice.

"Oh, just for someone," he let it leak out, slowly, painfully.

"Someone? ... Who?" Winona's eyes widened with curiosity.

"I can't say," he defended.

"Does it have to do with a girl?" she asked bluntly.

".... Yes," he paused before admitting with an embarrassed sigh.

Winona lowered her eyes, her previous energy mysteriously vanishing without a trace, and he could have sworn he had seen disappointment and worry flicker across her face – but it was probably just his imagination. "Anything wrong?" he inquired, intensely worried.

"No, nothing!" she answered with frantic hand gestures, wiping off whatever sorrow and apprehension she had on her face in that fleeting second.

"I'm... going to talk to Roxanne now." She suddenly gave him a half hearted wave. Before he could even say good bye, she was already running up to a younger girl standing at a corner of the room with waves of long brunette hair tied neatly into two ponytails. She looked up from the thick book she was reading, and the pair of round spectacles she had perched on her pale face glinted under the dim lights of the reception room. She exchanged a few inaudible words with Winona, before deciding to shoot him a deadly glare from across the room.

Had he done something wrong?

**&**

"I like you," she blurted out.

Her face was a shade of intense crimson, and her brow was furrowed with agitation as she struggled to maintain her composure. Her milky white fingers played with the blue helmet in her arms and the goggles that dangled around her elegant neck. Her radiant hair gleamed at her waist. She was in that trusty flight suit of hers again, with the white long-sleeved shirt and pants underneath. He'd never found it to be a classy attire, since it was usually covered with a layer of dirt and sweat. But suddenly, she became so much more exquisite, so much more dazzling, than any other time she'd looked for the past few years.

He smiled and placed a delighted hand on her cheek, feeling her warm skin.

And he kissed her, treasuring the moment when their clumsy, fumbling lips met.

**&**

Initially, he hadn't realised that all good things were bound to come to an end at some point of time.

He never entertained that thought, because his life was going perfectly – it was the smoothest ride he had ever experienced. He was ascending the ranks in the world of Pokémon battles, climbing his way to the pinnacle so that he could do her proud. His contests still held a fond place in his heart, but he had decided to concentrate on that year's League instead. If he succeeded now, he'd be crowned a winner – a Champion – someone truly deserving to be by Winona's side. (He remembered Juan mentioning that he was going to retire soon; and that Sootopolis would need a new Gym Leader to take over. In response to that, he just said, "I'll take a rain check.") What mattered now was the Pokémon League, for he had finally made it into the Finals, after all these tiring years. And even if it was his best friend and companion, Steven Stone, barring his way, he certainly wasn't about to let his guard down. He wasn't going to be a Gym Leader for Winona anymore – he was going to be a Champion.

Winona hadn't participated in the League that year. For she was applying to be the Gym Leader of her hometown, like she said she'd wanted to when they were just teenagers. And it was too late when he realised that he was a fool for not treasuring the time he had with her, until she spoke to him the night before the final match of the Pokémon League.

_All good things were bound to end_; and he learned it the hard way.

**&**

_Crack._He could have sworn he'd heard something break.

He couldn't believe her words. He just couldn't. She broke the news to him slowly and excruciatingly, not knowing how harsh the damage she dealed. His mind blanked out for a second, and he missed the following words of explanation from her. He only came back into reality (_a place he now hated, a place he now wanted to shun_) when she placed a gentle hand on his balled fists, her touch pulling him out from the raging sea in his head.

"Shape up. You're going to be the Champion tomorrow," she informed him sternly.

No, he wasn't. _He wasn't._

"What makes you think Steven won't be the victor?" he posed the questioned in response, desperate to find a way out of the loathsome situation.

Winona just offered him one of her devastatingly warm smiles, as she tightened her fingers around his hands. "Because it's you. I know you. You'll win for sure, won't you?" she spoke in a tone that reflected hope; and just a small trickle of pain. Her touch started to leave him, but he wouldn't allow that. He reached out his hands and captured her fingers in his iron grip, wanting never to let go. He had been attracted to her, adored her for so many years. The irony of them parting now, at such a vital time – _it was heartbreaking_.

"If I win, I promise, I won't let it come between us," he asserted himself, but her eyes signalled that his words were falling on deaf ears.

"We'll have our own duties to fulfil, we can't neglect them," Winona explained, her voice cracking.

"We won't," he replied swiftly.

The woman looked up at him, deliberately shaking her head as she stretched a hand up to rest on his soft, white turban. He was afraid he had made her cry, but as he stared intently into her lavender eyes, he came face to face with iron-hard determination. She was completely serious about what she was going to do. Wasn't there even a whit of regret in her? Why was she such a selfless person? Why? To sacrifice their relationship for something like this – _it was heartbreaking_.

"Even after so long, you're still the same boy I met all those years ago," she sighed softly, before shifting towards him and planting a light kiss on his cheek. It spread over his skin like liquid sunlight, with the cooling effect an autumn breeze. Her mouth lingered over his cheek for a long moment, breathing onto his cold, clammy skin. The kiss had had a certain flutter to it; it embodied a cherished feeling that far differed from all the previous ones they had ever exchanged. It didn't take him long to realise it was a parting kiss – _it was heartbreaking_.

Suddenly, his hands could only feel empty air.

"Good luck, Wallace."

He stretched out a hand at her soft words, grasping aimlessly at formless matter as she abandoned his side. No, it was too soon – it was supposed to last far longer than this. But his legs remained attached to the tiled floor of the room, and something was stopping him from going after Winona. Was it his guilt? Or maybe it was his shattered heart? He clenched his fingers tight into a balled fist, and reluctantly allowed her to leave without a fuss. He gathered his bearings, and quelled the rapid thumping of his wounded heart. Something sparked within him, and he realised that what was stopping him was… his patience. Deep down, he knew instinctively, that he'd wait for her – wait for her and wait for her, until the day she decided to return to him. He looked up for the final time as she departed, and hadn't a chance to confirm whether he had seen glittering tears or just the dreary fluorescent lights of the room catching the shine of her majestic, hip-length hair.

Winona would come back soon, he knew it – so… it was alright to let her go. Just for now.

She disappeared without a sound, like a gentle breeze that captured his heart with just one sweep of her long veil of violet hair.

That was the lasting impression she'd leave on him forever.

_She was a gust of wind._**  
**

(And he wanted to feel that familiar breeze against him once more. No matter how long he had to wait.)


	10. Rising : Mack and Marge

**A/N:**

Got a request for this couple which appeals to me as well. Hope that they aren't too OOC. Enjoy. (And oh, if you've noticed, yes, I've adopted a new format for B&P. I'm going to be writing about Game!verse characters soon. This'll help ease the confusion.)

**World** – Manga  
**Characters** – Mack/Marge (Hank/Courtney)  
**Genres** – Romance (invisible?), Humour  
**Note(s)** – Requested by _Snoaz  
_

* * *

**Rising : Mack and Marge**

It's yet another slow, unproductive day in the base, with no significant plans to foil and hardly any important places to cause a commotion at. The boredom's nearly tangible. Mitch is out training with his Torkoal for the fifth time today. That big lug can never stay still for about more than five seconds, you've observed. The humid air unmistakably reeks of the lingering cups of alcohol that the leader doesn't feel like finishing up. The cavern is as hot and as dry as ever, and you'll be lying if you say it isn't because you're wearing a lengthy red cape and hood over your frame. It also isn't because you're forced to don long, stifling black pants.

You lean against the smooth wall in your corner of the small abode the team has settled themselves in, flicking the black horn in your hands on and off several times. The flame of the lighter burns softly, and you see the ghost of images and memories flash by your lacklustre eyes. You see the face of a boy and his Marshtomp flickering in the small inferno, and frustration gnaws at your chest. You immediately dose the fire, not wanting to be reminded of the troublesome pest and how'd he managed to escape from you at Slateport.

You reattach the Magma Lighter to the side of your hood, before folding your arms and circumventing the area. The leader is sitting on his 'throne' again. It's just a chunk of elevated rock that just so happens to be positioned in the middle of the base. But that's good enough for Maxie; all he wants is the prospect of power, and knowing that he's above everyone else. You exhale a good bit of air, your long, blond bangs partially obscuring your view of the base. One hand brushes the hair back, and your eyes fall on Marge.

Her hood is down, displaying her messy sheen of raven hair. She has a lazy glimmer in her dull and moody eyes, as her fine jaw churns up and down. She parts her lips and a pink bubble emerges, growing and growing in capacity until it pops with a mute note. As she resumes chewing the gum, you can't help but wonder what's so nice about the rubber candy. You can't help but try to guess what flavour of bubblegum Marge likes. She's interesting, that woman lounging over there, with her half-lidded eyes staring at nothing in particular.

You heard that she joined Team Magma for fun. Just for a laugh and some quality entertainment. You thought everyone had a deeper purpose than that. You want to train your illusionary moves and witness the foretold power the Red and Blue orbs hold, while Mitch likes to blow things up and cause a ruckus - and he wants to expand the land. Team Magma is perfect for someone like him. She, on the other hand, doesn't really have a proper reason for joining, it's queer.

Yet also intriguing at the same time.

"Mack, Marge." Your mind perks at the mention of your name and hers being said together, and your train of thought instantly derails. "Go and scout for a new base," Maxie orders in a breezy voice. "The new recruits are reporting in a few days to ready themselves for the attack on Rusturf Tunnel, we need a bigger den than this," the Magma leader explains, waving one dismissive hand at the two of you. You nod curtly and get onto your feet. Marge, on the other hand, doesn't even acknowledge that she's heard Maxie's words, and just pulls her crimson hood over her head as she rises from her rest. She trots out of the cave at your heels, placing a hand on her hip.

The welcomed wind hits your face, and you feel relieved to be out of the oven that's masquerading as the Team Magma hideout. You make a mental note to ensure that the next base is not going to be as suffocating as the current one. Marge stands by your side, blowing up another bubble of gum as she starts walking ahead into the woods first. You trail behind her, and though it would be nice to instigate conversation, you decide to retain your cool and uncaring persona – perhaps Marge finds that attractive.

The sphere of gum explodes and she moves her mouth, a hint of what looks like a smile playing on the corners of her fine lips. "So you let an eleven-year old kid foil your plans, huh?" she snickers, looking utterly regaled as she brings up the embarrassing topic. You inform her with a calculative voice that the plan had not been foiled, and that you had obtained the submarine, as ordered. Marge proceeds to chortle in a mocking way. You raise an eyebrow in annoyance, and want to remind her that she too, had trouble with two kids at the abandoned ship. But you hold your tongue; you've matured from such childish devices. You instead shift your attention to the towering trees flanking the dusty path leading out of the woodlands. Their thick canopies filter in only the most miniscule rays of sunlight to the forest floor, and the atmosphere is serene, as is the air fresh. It's too peaceful, too serene for your refined taste. So it becomes a bothersome thing for you.

You feel like burning the place down.

"Fact is that the boy escaped from you illusions." Marge says with a finger poised in the air, and you shoot her an unsatisfied look as you emerge from the sea of your mind. You explain to her that it was only because you had failed to realise that someone of his build could actually have that much willpower. And you can't help but grumble as you speak. Marge shakes her head at your words as she kicks at a stray pebble and chuckles briefly. "You know how I detest such time-wasting attacks," she says with a sigh, and you nod your head in forced agreement. "You should have just threatened to burn things up the moment he gave you trouble." Marge snaps her fingers to signify the simplicity of the action.

It's your turn to laugh. You tell her not all matters can be resolved so easily.

She rolls her eyes and blows up another balloon of gum from her mouth. That habit of hers never gets boring, you realise. You disallow a smile from touching your face as you gaze at her. What if she catches you staring with an idiotic grin plastered on your face? You avert your eyes to the path ahead, and realise that you're almost out of the forest. Her words from before are still swirling in your head, mixing with your thoughts. And then, there's this nagging question in your mind – something far more distracting than the question of what kind of gum Marge actually chews.

Hey, you've got nothing to lose.

You call her name to get her attention, and she tilts her chin slightly, her own way of recognizing your presence. You ask if she dislikes your illusions, she replies with a precise "Of course." So, with a sly voice, you carry on to ask if that means… she detests you as well.

Marge halts in her tracks, and you await your answer, a smirk on your face. You can't see her facial expression since you've been following behind her all the while. The woman regains her bearings and turns to look over her shoulder at you, an intelligent smile drawn on her countenance. It's a smile that only you and her will ever be able to understand, it's a smile that would be wasted on someone as dense as Mitch.

"Perhaps," she considers, with a voice like honey and a laugh that rings in your ears. And she's hinting at something deeper, you can feel it – just barely in the tense atmosphere of the annoyingly serene forest. Marge shifts a hand under the side of her cascading skirt, to the place where she clips her Pokégear. She pulls out something and tosses it towards you. You catch it expertly with one hand, just as she's drawing out a Pokéball.

She bridges the gap between herself and the clearing that breaks away from the harsh foliage of the woods, and releases her Swellow into the air. "I'm scouting ahead, towards Mount Chimney. Don't be a Slowpoke," she instructs you before blowing up a pink bubble as the dark-feathered avian clamps its talons onto her shoulders and lifts her into the air. The Swellow flaps its sturdy wings and flies off with Marge in tow. The large red cape is dancing behind her frame.

_Majesti_c… you think, and you aren't referring to the dumb bird.

You unclench your fingers to reveal a thin piece of something wrapped in shining metal foil. Your lips twitch and you can't bury the instinct to smile now. As you unwrap the candy and throw it into your mouth, you recall that Marge has never offered her gum to anyone before. You hate to admit it, but something bubbles at the bottom of your gut, and you don't think it's because of the crappy lunch Mitch bought today.

You entertain the thought of holding her hand later, but realise that that would be suicidal.

You release your own trained Swellow in a bright spark of red, and order it to fly you towards Mount Chimney. As your Pokémon beats its feathers and the two of you ascend into the air, you flick the crushed foil into a nearby tree. It doesn't matter if you litter anyway, since this forest is going to be a field of ashes in no time flat.

And you suddenly realise that you have to prioritize yourself.

You have to find a new base, preferably somewhere that isn't akin to an oven, then report back to Maxie. Maybe after that, you can try holding Marge's hand, but wait – you don't know what poisonous, acidic berry liquid she's got on her gloves today. Damn. And you still have to burn down this forest. Really, a boring day has just turned into one that's now packed with things-to-do. You can't help but sigh as the wind brushes past you and you spot Marge off in the distance, a tiny speck in the sky. You chew your gum with contemplation.

First things first though.

You have got to get used to the taste of rubber watermelon in your mouth.


	11. Dynamo : Flint and Volkner

**A/N:**

Coincidentally, I just defeated Volkner in my Pearl game. He isn't as stoic as I originally thought, once the player defeats him at least. So my interpretation is that Volkner initially finds Flint bothersome, until he slowly (perhaps, reluctantly?) gets used to Flint's company XD I like the chemistry these two have. For me, I prefer brotherly love over boy love in this case. Romance, is of course, always optional depending on your preferences.

Nothing too great about this fic. I wish I could have done better, though.

**World** – Game  
**Characters** – Volkner/Flint (Ignitionshipping)  
**Genres** – Friendship, Humour  
**Note(s)** – Dynamo  
_**–noun, plural -mos.  
**_**1. **an electric generator, esp. for direct current.  
**2. ****an energetic, hardworking, forceful person.**

* * *

**Dynamo : Flint and Volkner**

"_Vooolkner!"_ the hauntingly familiar shout originated from the parting doors of the gym. The young male lounging in the cerulean cushion of his comfortably modest sofa shifted uneasily in his seat. He ran a hand through his sharp blonde hair and released a soft, almost muted, sigh as he realised that his afternoon would not remain peaceful for much longer. The Gym Leader of Sunnyshore placed the grey handphone resting in his palm back into his pocket before looking up from his jeaned lap. The whirring sound of his electrically powered bridges shifting into motion reverberated through the room. The person that shredded down the metallic lanes with memorised agility had a goofy grin etched on his bright face, his rosy cheeks closely matching the shade of his bouncy hair.

Flint came to a skidding halt in front of the impassive spectator who merely flicked his head in a gesture of acknowledgement. The skilled Elite trainer waved a boisterous hand at the blonde, his smile never faltering from his face as he caught his breath and began to speak with enthusiasm. "Hey, I just saw this cute girl at the beach, you know? The beauty who's been hanging out at that spot for a couple of weeks now, why don't we –"

"Not interested," Volkner cut through his sentence with a sharp and nonchalant tone.

The Fire-type specialist frowned at the disinterest the Gym Leader displayed, proceeding to plant his palms onto the knees of his black, baggy pants and bend forward. Flint stared intensely at Volkner's stoic countenance for a few seconds, as if examining the grown man. Said male did not appreciate the unwanted attention, folding his arms sternly across his chest and wrinkling his navy blue jacket in the process. "What is it?" he asked with a tired sigh. No matter how much time he spent with the redhead, Volkner just could not even begin to understand Flint's eccentrics. The aforementioned member of Sinnoh's Elite Four replied with a knowing smile, before pumping his fists into the air. "We've got to get you a girlfriend!" he declared righteously, earning a few blinks from the unamused Electric-type user. It was not normal for a friend to come barging into your gym, only to demand that you find a romantic interest – but then again, when was Flint ever… normal?

"Why's that?" Volkner risked asking the question.

Flint slapped his forehead with an exasperated hand as he shook his head. He gave the Gym Leader a pitying gaze, as if the blonde was too dense to comprehend the situation. "Don't you see, Volkner? You're always so moody." The crimson-haired adult gestured at the sitting male, who raised an eyebrow at the uttered words. "What you need is some romance to give you more spark!" Flint deduced, his tone all-knowing and confident. His friend failed to see the point of the statement, offering him only a look of scepticism. But before he had a chance to elicit a separate, more effective response – like say, for example, kicking the loony afro head out of his gym – Flint had flopped himself onto the sofa next to Volkner. He grudgingly allowed the redhead to place an arm around his hunched shoulders, knowing fully how the noisy male would continue bothering him unless he listened. Well, at least there were no trainers around to see this embarrassing situation. The blonde shot a few choice glares at the Gym Trainers who were loitering about their respective posts around the floors of the arena, ensuring that they would not stare at the duo.

"How about asking Gardenia?" Flint piped up, his words brimming with hope.

Volkner shook his head and inquired, "Isn't there something going on between her and Roark?" He had seen the way the Rock-type Leader gazed at the woman put in-charge of Eterna City, with transfixed eyes through the lenses of his crooked spectacles. Flint seemed taken aback by the disclosure of the news, his mouth gaping slightly. "Really? I wouldn't know, since I don't visit the other gyms regularly," he pondered in a thoughtful way.

Lucky them; the Sunnyshore Gym Leader lamented.

"Speaking of couples, do you know what happened during that boring meeting Cynthia held last week? You know, where all of us, including the Frontier Brains, had to assemble?" Flint drew closer to Volkner's ear, his hand clenching tightly on the blonde's shoulder in the process. The Gym Leader shrugged, not really concerned with the information he knew – or lack thereof. But of course, the Elite trainer carried on either way, snickering as he whispered, "I saw Byron eyeing Fantina!" Volkner furrowed his eyebrows at the redhead's words, before bringing a hand up to his face to massage his temple.

"Looking at someone's weird hairstyle doesn't mean you like the person."

" – What about Maylene? She's cute, isn't she?"

Volkner's hand slid comically down his face as Flint chose to tune out all forms of reasoning, and instead, continue on with another topic.

"She's a child." The lightning-haired man had to use all his willpower not to raise his voice.

"Oh right, she's too young for you, huh?" the Fire-type trainer realised, a little too slow on the uptake.

"You think?" the perplexed Gym Leader peppered the rhetorical question with sarcasm. The redhead nodded deeply, scratching his chin as he began to think of the next likely candidate to be Volkner's love interest.

"Feels like we're missing someone…" he said, his eyes squinting as he tried to recall the last, unnamed female Gym Leader of Sinnoh.

"Candice," Volkner informed him curtly, trying his utmost not to feel embarrassed at the mention of that female's name. He'd never be able to live it down if the redhead found out that he fancied the (strangely fiery) Ice Queen. He glued his eyes to the floor, refusing to look Flint in the eye.

"Oh right! Candice!" The member of the Elite Four snapped his fingers at the mention of her name. "But there's no chance of anything happening between the two of you. I mean, she lives too far away in the mountains, right?" the Fire-type user concluded, as Volkner nodded his head in an awkward fashion.

"…. right." The Gym Leader fumbled with the cellphone wedged in his pocket, making sure that it was switched off to avoid any untimely calls or text messages from a certain someone.

"Well, this isn't good, Volkner," Flint sighed, cupping his hands together as he rested his elbows on his knees. The Electric-type trainer noticed that focus in his eyes, and couldn't help but wonder what silly idea the male with the afro would concoct next. He wasn't looking forward to it, don't misunderstand, he was merely interested to see what antics Flint would perform next. And at that very thought, the crimson-haired man leapt off the sofa and onto his feet. The young male placed one hand on his hip, the other proceeding to point at the door that led outside the Sunnyshore Gym.

"Okay, instead of talking about the girls we know, let's go check some out!" the redhead announced rather than suggested. Volkner's eyes widened in shock as Flint grabbed his wrist with an unyielding grip and began to tug him out of his seat.

"What? Flint! You know that I need to stay here to battle challengers right?" the blonde questioned him severely as he was dragged forcefully out of his dear sofa.

"We'll only be gone for a few minutes; the beach is only a stone's throw away." The male taking the lead comforted his flustered friend as he began to make his way down the walkways of the gym floor. Had Volkner not been in a patient, slightly uplifted mood (for Candice had texted him about a skiing trip next week, a few minutes before Flint came barrelling into the gym) he would have continued his protests – as fruitless as they tended to be. He reluctantly allowed himself to be dragged across the floor, much to the entertainment of the juniors in the gym.

"Like I said, there's that pretty chick in the white sundress, you've seen her before, right?" Flint started to ask.

"Yeah.." Volkner didn't quite like where this conversation was going.

"Well, we should totally make the two of you fall in love!" the redhead burst out with excitement as the pair travelled down the final route leading to the doors of the Sunnyshore Gym.

"H-Hey, Flint! Don't be an idiot!" Volker cried out with unease, shaking free of his friend's grip on his hand. The blonde clasped his fingers on Flint's elbow in a bid to stop the madman from wreaking havoc on his innocently oblivious city. Of course, the fired up male would not be stopped so easily; instead, continuing to pull the Gym Leader along his side as the gym's doors began to part for them.

"Relax, Volkner! Trust me, I'm your best buddy, aren't I?" Flint tossed him an idiotic grin.

The grin was raw with sincerity and emotion – something that the Fire-type specialist never really lacked – something that Volkner strived to grasp at with flailing hands. It was something that caused the redhead to have a magnetic personality, a personality that the Electric-type leader could never grow to essentially detest. It couldn't be explained with mere words; this was probably best described as one of the irrational mysteries about friendship.

As they emerged through the sliding doors and into the warm air and blinding sunlight, Flint beamed at him once more. It was a goofy, confident smile; a smile that Volkner instantly recognised. A smile like that usually entailed either trouble or laughter. At times, it was a combination of the two. And the Gym Leader soon found himself not really minding as much about the consequences, as the pair of friends travelled across the solar-panelled streets of the seaside settlement.

Flint sure was a dynamic person; it was hard to tolerate someone like him.

Volkner felt a small sense of accomplishment flicker in his chest at the thought. He casually dug his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans, while Flint placed a hand on his shoulder out of trained habit. The Gym Leader did not show the happiness on his face, preferring to keep these emotions to himself.

He recalled that he had just been dubbed as a 'Best buddy'.

Honestly… it didn't sound as bad as was supposed to be.


	12. Earth : Misty

**A/N:**

I've always wondered where in the world did the Gym Leaders disappear to during the FRLG arc of the Pokespe manga o__o; Anyway, please try to enjoy :3 I've started to feel more sympathy for Misty after I wrote this (though I'm not an avid fan of Special persay, you guys know what pairing I really love to fangirl over (: ). And yes, the title almost has nothing to do with the fic. _Almost._ You gotta' squint, yo.

**World** – Manga  
**Characters** – Misty  
**Genres** – General, Drama  
**Note(s)** – (onesided?) Mangapokeshipping.

* * *

**Earth :** **Misty**

She couldn't help but add an embarrassing skip to her step as she journeyed down the wide and dusty path that split the quaint little town into a neat half. The redhead peeked over her shoulder, ensuring that there wasn't anyone around to catch her acting so childishly. Thankfully, Pallet Town had always been quiet and serene, the houses that lined the roadsides remained still, and the atmosphere was so tranquil. The children were probably still stuck in school. The lady clad in the crimson shirt and worn out shorts allowed herself to caper towards her destination for a few feet; she couldn't help it. The Gym Leader was practically exuberating anticipation and excitement.

She hadn't seen Red for so long.

But she had to control her emotions; she certainly didn't want the boy to learn that she had missed him. So the female slowed the speed of her footsteps as she neared the familiar house and paced herself. She strode nonchalantly up the walkway and knocked one hand against the mahogany door. Red and Green had returned to Kanto only a few days earlier, surely they were around here somewhere – there was no way they had already gone off on another harebrained adventure.

However, as the seconds crawled by, and the brown door remained unanswered, the blue-eyed girl sensed uncertainty creep up her spine and pricking her tanned skin. Was Red out? Or was he too caught up with something to open the door. Maybe he was talking to someone. Perhaps, it was someone with longer hair, brighter eyes and a sweeter voice. And suddenly, her initial cheer was polluted with subtle gloom. The Gym Leader placed a perplexed hand on the back of her head, and combed her fingers through her hair before she decided to take a peek through the window. Granted, the last time when she had done so, she had felt an ache in her heart.

But she really wanted to see him.

The suspense piled up, and she felt fear and anxiety flourish in her gut. The girl couldn't lie to herself; she was scared about seeing him in front of his laptop, chatting animatedly to a blonde angel on the other side of the screen. But she sucked in a breath of air and ventured up to the window. Red always left his curtains drawn so that pure sunlight flooded into his room. She smiled at the thought and garnered the strength to gaze through the dusty glass. Upon seeing a lonely computer resting in the empty and untidy room, she exhaled a sigh flooded with intense relief. Though what she feared hadn't come true, the Gym Leader still couldn't help but let her spirits falter further as she realised that she had no idea where the Pokémon Champion was.

As if on cue, the Pokégear clipped to her side began to vibrate. The girl jolted with a start, and fumbled with the device on her belt before successfully unhooking it from its perch. Could it be…? She quickly ran her eyes over the name of the person calling, before her bout of euphoria faded. She was expecting too much. Red had no reason to contact her; she was being silly and delusional. She collected herself before answering the call. The blank screen of the electronic gadget sprang to life. It proceeded to display the face of a matured woman with raven, shoulder-length hair and a sincere smile.

"Hi Erika," she chirped, masking her disappointment in the process.

The Gym Leader of Celadon bowed politely in response, before beginning to explain to her the reason for the sudden and rude interruption. The teenager shook her head and calmed the head Gym Leader of Kanto, ensuring her that she had not disrupted anything significant.

"… what?" As the conversation dragged on, the redhead stared with focus at Erika. There seemed to be trouble stirring up in the Sevii Islands, by people who bore the crest of Team Rocket. Her blood seethed at the mention of their name, and she was more than willing to dash into the fray. She told the Grass-type specialist that she was already prepared to do just that. However, the next piece of information Erika disclosed caused her heart to skip a beat and her brain to halt all functions.

"Red?" she repeated after the brunette.

Her eyebrows knotted themselves, and concern strained her thumping heart.

"The fact that he's there gives me all the more reason to go over there and help hi–" She slowed to a stop as Erika addressed her with a stern and solemn voice. The tone she used when she absolutely had to get the Kanto Gym Leaders to listen to her instructions – one of the very reasons why she was chosen to be the representative of Kanto. The Water-type expert listened with a disgruntled face as Erika explained that Bill had informed her that everything was under control. The Gym Leaders had to stick to their posts and guard their gyms – all the Kanto Pokédex Holders would be able to handle the situation.

"That means Yellow's going to be there too?" Her voice lost its passion and drive as Erika's last sentence reached her ears. She tried not to seem too detached as the woman on the other end of the line continued to speak.

"Yes, I think she's very reliable." She managed a weak smile as she agreed with the brunette's words.

"I understand now, it won't be necessary for me to go then," the Gym Leader nodded her head. That in turn earned Erika's approval and words of encouragement. After a few more formalities, their conversation came to an end, and the redhead swiftly clicked the Pokégear off before the other woman had a chance to notice the tears pricking at her ocean-coloured eyes. Her breaths grew uncoordinated and her eyes watered uncontrollably. She knocked a balled hand lightly against the side of her head, her other arm hastily wiping her eyes dry before she could burst out sobbing. She had to remain calm.

She wanted to go to the Sevii Islands – she honestly and earnestly did. Erika wouldn't even find out that she was missing from her gym for a day or two. However, as she contemplated and evaluated the idea of charging towards a place she hardly knew, to help someone who was more than capable of performing the task himself, the plan gradually lost its novelty. And something else was holding her back. What was restricting her from making the choice?

The Gym Leader grew afraid of the answer, so she stopped thinking about it all together.

Everything was going to be alright; Yellow was going to be there.

In any case, she would see Red again after the whole ordeal.

(Her fists clenched involuntarily; and bitterness filled her mouth)

She folded her arms stiffly and attempted to look composed as she staggered away from the house and back to Cerulean, kicking at stray pebbles along the way.


	13. Beacon : Wallace and Steven

**A/N:  
**Shotas, yum. And yes, I agree that Wallace and Steven most definitely have a better (and more epic) meeting than this.

**World – **Manga  
**Characters** – Wallace/Steven (Originshipping)  
**Genres** – Friendship  
**Note(s)** – nil

* * *

**Beacon : Wallace and Steven**

The young boy with the oddly greyish hair peeked curiously through the window of the building adorned with satellites, blinking lights and a myriad of twisting cables. From what he could barely discern through the glass, there was a large team of scientists clad in uniform lab coats bustling about within its interior. The computerized machines beeped so loudly that he could hear them through the window. The thirteen-year old male could not explain it, but he found himself being drawn towards the hum of activity taking place. His companion hovered patiently at his shoulder, gaze unblinking as it observed the scientists at work.

But wait, he was the heir to the Devon Corporation; he couldn't go off gallivanting to regional Space Centres, right? He was definitely more mature than that! He officially became a teenager this year; he had to be as mature as one. Steven Stone surrendered his perch at the window of his childhood fascination and began travelling down the flight of tiled stairs. His sense of duty far overpowered his immature interest as he hazarded a final glance over his shoulder. The male continued to carry himself through the peaceful early morning streets of Mossdeep, the breeze gusting gently across him and his dark collared shirt. From behind him, a metallic buzz sounded, indicating the loyal presence of his Pokémon.

He had been neglecting it recently, and though its face bore no discernable features, he knew that it was itching for some blood-pumping action, for a battle to showcase its strengths and skills.

Steven found his legs guiding him instinctively towards the shoreline of the isle despite the fact that his ink black pants would most certainly be dirtied with sand. But he ventured down the steps that led to his treasured thinking place anyway, the metal belt his father had bestowed to him, whilst still empty of moon rocks and other various stones, clanking loudly against the back of his legs. As his neatly tied and shined shoes kicked up a wave of golden grain, the young boy was ambushed by a ripple of stupor as he realised that someone else had entered his sanctuary. He placed a protective hand onto his friend, feeling the cool, smooth body under his fingers.

Hardly anyone came to the beach so early.

Strike that, hardly anyone came to the beach at all.

He ventured forth, tucking his hands into the pockets of his personally-tailored pants, leaving footprints on the warm, outreaching beach as it enveloped the rolling tides. After a few more steps, he managed to discover the trainer and his Pokémon practicing behind a short wall of boulders and sand. Steven blinked his inquisitive eyes once, twice, and then tilted his head with subtle interest as he noticed that the young boy with light-blue hair was not engaging battle with the loitering Krabby and drifting Tentacool. Instead, his Spheal was eagerly splashing in the low tide, stubby flippers shining and grin sincere as it danced in the light of the falling sea water as it caught the rising sun's rays.

Steven stared without really knowing why, wondering how the Pokémon managed to look so outstanding against the simple setting. Though honestly, the sun was rising and dying the skies a captivating maple hue, and the drifting seawater smelled so fresh and salty; in this case, simplicity lead to beauty.

By now, the little Ice-type had taken note of his intrusion on the scene, clapping its flippers and causing the unfamiliar boy to turn around. As they faced each other on the beach, Steven summoned up what he hoped would be a friendly smile, noticing the purple Bermudas and long-sleeved blue the stranger donned. Judging from the eager gaze the sapphire-eyed boy addressed him with, Steven assumed that they were on good terms already. The taller boy seemed enthusiastic about his audience, as if he was genuinely delighted that Steven had barged into his training session.

"Was it nice? The performance, I mean," the male asked with a lively voice.

"Certainly," the grey-haired boy nodded, before giving into the urge to pose his own question. "But what's the use of performing during a battle? Or are you not a Pokémon trainer?"

The young stranger laughed; a small chuckle of surprise, by no means a mocking gesture. "I prefer to be called a Coordinator, you've never heard of one?" he answered the question with an intrigued smile. Ah, Steven could clearly recall his mother telling him of such Pokémon handlers, of how they trained their captured beasts in the art of performance, instead of the art of combat. The young son of the Devon Corp nodded his head to signal his understanding, before tightening the grip of his fingers onto his Beldum.

"That's a shame," Steven found himself saying.

"Oh, why?" The male with the aquamarine hair furrowed his brow.

"I initially thought that perhaps we could hold a friendly battle, it's a hard opportunity to come by around here," the grey-eyed boy explained with an inward sigh. Yes, it was hard for an awkward teenager to start his journey in Mossdeep, small numbers of people journeyed to the island, only skilled and elite trainers came every once in awhile to do battle with the two Gym Leaders. He had heard through rumours that they were expecting twin grandchildren soon.

"You mean a fight with that ugly thing?" The stranger pointed a blatant finger at the floating Beldum.

"A-ah! Sorry, I didn't really mean…" the boy coughed with guilt right after, his tone apologetic. Steven presented him with a benign grin, unfazed by the harsh comment as he gave his Steel-type a comforting pat to the side. The Pokémon did not seem emotionally scarred in any way, continuing to hover idly and gaze into the far distance. It produced a monotonic chime every now and then.

"Well, Beldum's not much to look at, but I'm sure he packs a punch," Steven challenged, a sincere smile gracing his countenance. He felt like proving the young boy wrong, that Beldum could be attractive, in the fray, at least.

"Sorry to inform you, but my gorgeous Pokémon are beautiful, beautiful, beautiful," the opponent announced with flair and passion, "– but _strong_ as well." He smiled coyly. With that, the Spheal frolicking near the shore bounded wordlessly in front of him, dark eyes flashing with a burning, unquenchable flame. Steven felt his gut tighten with healthy anticipation.

But wait, he had to maintain proper etiquette, even in times of competition. The youthful teenager jogged up to the stranger, his Beldum fluttering absently after him. Steven stretched out an open palm to the boy who seemed to be around his age up close, his face was pale and inviting, signs of lingering baby fat still evident. His blue eyes reflected an adventurous nature, as if it was the stranger's first time out in an open, far-spreading and breath-taking beach.

"I'm Steven," he introduced himself warmly despite the fact that he was brimming with excitement, counting down the seconds till the start of their Pokémon's clash.

"Wallace." The boy caught on, raising his own arm so that they could complete the simple handshake.

Just a casual battle; that was all Steven thought it would amount to be.


	14. Rock : Gardenia and Roark

**World** – Game  
**Characters** – Roark/Gardenia (MossShipping)  
**Genres** – Romance, Humour  
**Note(s)** – needs. moar. love.

* * *

**Rock : Roark and Gardenia**

The first time he sees her there, his heart clenches involuntarily.  
His palms start to sweat.  
Roark immediately dives behind a clump of shrubs and prays his presence goes unnoticed.

He can't entirely believe that someone other than himself is showing interest in that lone, mossy rock. Granted, not everyone is born to be a rock enthusiast, so the Gym Leader can't help but wonder why she's sitting on the odd stone with eyes closed, dark emerald poncho pulled close to shield herself from the cool wind that's currently rolling through the acres of Eterna Forest. Her Roserade is at her side, enjoying the moment as well. The Grass-type prances around the stone, bouncing through the growing grass and sprouting ferns as it frolics in Mother Nature's embrace. Roark doesn't know how to describe the sensation he feels as he watches both trainer and Pokémon bathe in the beauty of the forest. Perhaps there really is a special quality to the rock she's claimed. He is more tempted to study it now, but can't bear to speak up, he watches on for a few more seconds. He tries to understand why he's so nervous and why his heart is racing.

The Rock-type expert doesn't want to intrude on the resting female, he tucks his documents under one arm and slowly shifts away from his hiding corner. He's never really held a proper conversation with her before; he's too self-conscious and afraid to talk to anyone other than the male Gym Leaders and his father. He doesn't really know how to act around girls, and isn't all that keen to learn. Roark doesn't want to screw up around her, and for some unplaced reason that makes his cheeks redden; he suddenly wants to get away. He just can't imagine talking to her, he knows she won't like him, and it's obvious that she wouldn't like his disturbance now. Roark knows he can come back on a later date to run his experiments and do his research. He steps on a twig during his retreat, and feels a jolt of terror scamper up his spine.

"Who's there?" A woman's surprised tone shatters the once tranquil woodlands.

Roark clambers messily onto his feet and runs madly away from the direction of the voice, back to the security of the Oreburgh Mines.

-

The first time she notices him there, her mouth twitches into an amused grin.  
Her eyes start to brighten.  
Gardenia leans casually against a nearby trunk and refrains from disturbing him.

She doesn't take long to understand why he's crouching over the moss rock, clipboard firm in one hand, torchlight held high with the other. All the Eterna City Gym Leader gets to see is his side profile, auburn eyes focused unrelentingly on the stone where she prefers to enjoy lazy, trainer-free afternoons. There is this magical quality to the atmosphere encompassing the lone moss-crusted lump, a certain hint of enchantment in the damp forest air. Gardenia can't place her finger on it, but the young woman knows that there's something special about that particular rock.

And to see someone else taking interest in it, she can't help but feel satisfaction surging through her body. It is a sort of affirmation to her, that she's not a weird, raving lunatic, and that the mystical stone deserves a good bit of attention. She recognizes him by his bright orange helmet and crimson, shoulder-length hair. The female knows how everyone, even spunky Maylene, finds it a difficulty to communicate with him. He's always got his head in the clouds, or rather, in a dingy coal mine. She's happily relieved to know that he spends at least a portion of time outdoors as well. She remembers how she mistook him for a female with broad shoulders during the first gathering of the newly appointed Sinnoh Gym Leaders. Gardenia attempts to cover her mouth before her building laughter escapes, but she is far too slow. Her uncontained chuckles ring through the greenish leaves and echo through the myriads of trees.

"Who's there?" He springs up from the rock, his eyes wide with alarm and his cheeks flushed.

Gardenia steps away from her post and strolls eagerly towards him to ask what he's doing, determined to develop a relationship with him.

-

By the fourth time they meet, they greet each other amiably.  
He's still fumbling with words; she's already gotten used to his company.  
They settle down at their usual spot.

"We have to stop meeting like this," the woman laughs, the male attempts to join in. But his weak chuckle is faltering and dry compared to hers. Her hearty chortles seem to drown out his so completely. And he doesn't really mind that much; she can laugh for the both of them. He unpacks his materials from the small brown rucksack he's carried all the way from Oreburgh and draws out a ballpoint pen from the pocket on his old bronze jacket.

Gardenia notices how he's made an effort to keep a polite distance away from her, and makes no move to bridge said length for comfort's sake. She tries her best to enjoy the mystique of the forest once more. Roark buries his thoughts into that day's calculations and somehow manages not to spend too long staring at her. Not long after, they succeed in maintaining a ten-minute conversation, breaking a record for the shy Rock-type specialist. They slip in a few laughs and small witty joke or two, and share two sandwiches the male made for a light snack. She asks if he made two on purpose, he blushes and mutters that he felt hungrier today. He doesn't tell her that he made an extra ham sandwich because he was hoping for her company. Gardenia feels contented nonetheless, while Roark tastes accomplishment. They have a wonderful off-day, where she's relaxing to her fullest; but he never gets much work done.

-

By the seventh chance that they stumble upon each other, they smile and need not exchange formalities.  
He's still jumpy around her; she's falling more in love with him.  
They are more open to each other.

Roark speaks with a less stilted voice, learns how to be more relaxed around her and realises that he is genuinely not considered just a mere acquaintance. He notices her long eyelashes and her fiery eyes, and secretly thinks about becoming more than just friends. Gardenia speaks in her usual boisterous fashion, but is taught how to be more observant, appreciate the simpler things. Like his rare grin, and the way he pulls at a reddish bang when he's thinking too hard. When he bends over to examine the rock, his shoulder accidentally brushes her arm. Before he can jump back and apologise, she leans her weight against him and he sees a picture of radiance blossom on her face. Roark straightens his posture, Gardenia shifts to the left a bit more. They spend what seems like an eternity in that position, where she's blissfully gratified; and he fails to get enough records again.

-

By the tenth time, they are comfortably close.  
But he's still so unsure; so she's growing too impatient.  
Gardenia sighs. She pecks his cheek when he's off guard.  
Roark squeaks, but can't help it when he smiles broadly in the end.

She playfully removes his helmet and places it onto her head of maple hair. "How do I look?" she asks, her face burning with a pinkish hue. He extends a hesitant hand, but manages to cup her face and run a gentle thumb across her radiant cheeks. And he doesn't to say a word. He doesn't need to.

They confirm then and there that there's something special about this rock.


	15. Mind : Cynthia and Lucian

**A/N:  
**Have a Merry Christmas, guys!

**World** – Game  
**Characters** – Lucian/Cynthia (Snazzyshipping)  
**Genres** – Romance, General  
**Note(s)** – Requested by _Crazy Packers Fan  
_

* * *

**Mind : Lucian and Cynthia**

Lucian ran his violet eyes deliberately over the lines of text imprinted before him, a smile spreading across his youthful face. The merry fire danced within the homely fireplace, the faint crackle and pop of the embers being the only sound to echo through the silent room. Judging from the large glass window that stretched across half the opposite wall of the room, the outside world was as equally undisturbed. The snowflakes fell quaintly through the dark night, giving away no signs of impending blizzards. Lucian tucked a straying strand of purple behind one ear, his other hand resigning to drum against the armrest of the chair he currently occupied. He tapped his fingers lightly against the thick cushion as he flipped a page of the book, drinking in every drop of knowledge in the process.

What could be better than spending Christmas Eve with a good book? The Pokémon League was hardly ever so quiet; Lucian knew that he had to cherish the current tranquillity. It was all thanks to the holiday, of course. Rowdy Aaron and Flint were out drinking with Volkner, leaving the building with nothing but appreciated peace. Which was good really, because Lucian didn't know how much longer he could stand listening to Aaron drone on about how Bug Types were 'the best choice for piloting Santa's sleigh instead of boring Stantler'. Flint was no better; loudly wandering the building was he wondered what sort of present he could buy for his blonde friend. The list ranged from reasonable things such as a comb, to downright terrifying suggestions of purchasing a bulldozer.

Lucian took note of the fact that Bertha had disappeared as well, while certainly more tolerable company, the woman had mentioned that she would be paying a visit to her sister in distant Kanto.

And as Cynthia was the next person to cross his mind, Lucian took a sip from the cup of herbal tea poised on the other arm of his chair. Yes, the well-respected Champion, he had no idea where the elite trainer had gone. But yes, he didn't need to be a psychic to assume that she was busy with Christmas too. Didn't she have a wise old grandmother staying in Celestic Town?

Lucian's eyes lifted from the page which he had been absent-mindedly reading, and he stared at the fireplace for a few short seconds before resting his gaze on a neatly wrapped present on his lap. He moved the spine of the book out of his line of vision so that he could properly survey the rich white wrapping and the red ribbon tied onto the gift. He'd have to pass Cynthia the present on another day, he reckoned. She wouldn't be able to receive it before Christmas, but no matter, Lucian hoped that she would like it all the same.

He curled a finger round a lock of hair and couldn't help but imagine a smile touching Cynthia's face. It was obvious that the Champion was beautiful, with her flowing blonde hair and understanding eyes and lithe figure. But that was all on the exterior. Lucian found the inner Cynthia far more intriguing. Naturally, the conversations he shared with her were no more than polite attempts at banter and the occasional question or two. Sometimes, there was the discussion of strategies to adopt and the effective evaluation of challengers that came by every day or so. But from those exchanges of words alone, the young man was easily enraptured by her thoughtful answers and commendable wit. That was definitely something the general male population of the Elite Four lacked, much to Lucian's dismay.

The book closed soundlessly with a careful fold as he found himself thinking more about Cynthia. Strange, he clearly did not hold Flint, Aaron or Bertha with the same regard. Perhaps he was developing feelings for the Champion. Oh, the man chuckled at the thought. No matter, it was at most, a pointless infatuation that would no doubt, go away soon. Perhaps the Christmas-y atmosphere was just affecting to him and his usually acute mind.

He lingered his gaze over the tiny Christmas tree that the quintet had set up together. It was barely as tall as him, with the lone Pikachu angel seated on the pinnacle of the modest pine tree. But the shining ball ornaments and sparkling tinsel exuded the holiday spirit nonetheless, regardless of its scrawny size. Such a shame, really, that the others who had thrown together the tree were not here to enjoy its unique beauty.

At that thought, he turned expectantly to the towering door located to his right. It was usually about now, as depicted in several novels, where a person would walk into the room unannounced and 'unexpected'. But as the seconds crawled by and the bronze doorknob gave no hint of shifting in the least, Lucian felt his shoulders slump just a tiny bit. He returned his attention to his book quickly, dusting off any remaining hope from his well-ironed suit. Christmas, his mind informed him, was merely like any other day. It consisted of morning, noon and night, and would pass in twenty-four hours – whatever mirth that it brought along with it would dissipate as well. Kind of like a birthday with no celebration, he reasoned. Absence of a celebration did not necessarily mean you hadn't turned one year older – celebration or lack thereof did not dictate anything. Having company on a day like this was not essential. It was just another ordinary day.

No reason at all to feel lonely.

As his eyes scoured a few more lines of text, and he finally found himself sinking into the solace of the book. However, this did not last long as he soon heard the murmuring of footsteps accompanied by the jangling of a set of keys. Lucian smiled in spite of himself as he closed the book and parked it on the coffee table located in front of the armchair. Ah, the aforementioned person had just been running late, apparently.

The door opened, allowing a tall woman to enter. Behind her, the hallways that lead up to the main lobby were soundless and dim. Usually the room located up ahead would be bustling with activity, where League challengers gathered to heal their Pokémon and purchase their final medication for the trying battles that lay ahead. But not today, today the store holders were home, as was the nurse.

"No one should be spending Christmas alone," Cynthia said as she walked across the carpet, waving to him as she did so.

"Ah, but I have my books to keep me company," Lucian replied with a soft smile as he returned the gesture before pointing his hand to the singular pile of books stacked up next to his cosy armchair.

The Sinnoh Champion shook her head and sighed teasingly as a knowing look played across her features. She came up to his side and stood next to him, basking in the glow of the fire before her.

"What are you doing here on Christmas eve?" he asked.

"I had to run an errand here," Cynthia explained with a determined voice. And as the Psychic-type expert hazarded a glance at her, he found himself nearly forgetting about the object resting upon his lap. He quickly adjusted his spectacles before holding up the white gift to the woman. Cynthia gawked at him for a moment as he raised the present up to her, a nonchalant look pasted upon his countenance.

"Here. Merry Christmas, Cynthia," he told her amiably.

A smile blossomed on the woman's face as she took the present into her arms and hugged it to her coat-covered chest for a moment. She then tucked the box under one arm before reaching into the carrier bag hanging from her left shoulder to remove a golden box. As she held out the present in his direction, Lucian found himself raising his eyebrows in disbelief. Cynthia had gotten him something too? He would be lying if he said that he was not looking forward or hoping to receive a present from her, but still, it was unexpected. The gift was about the same size as the one he had passed Cynthia. Just a slight smidge larger than the average palm.

"Thank you for the present Lucian, and please don't assume for one second that I forgot about you," she told him as she extracted out the golden box from under her arm and began to examine it. The man looked up from the golden gift in his arms, glad that his eyes would be shielded by the dark lenses of his glasses. It would have been embarrassing for Cynthia to see the immense satisfaction clouding in his eyes. But Lucian smiled at her all the same.

He took an experimental shake to try to guess what the blonde had gotten for him, and has he swung it in the air, much like what Cynthia was currently doing, he found out that its contents produced no sound.

"Let me guess-" Cynthia started to say, a hand on her chin.

"I think this is-" Lucian felt like he knew what it was.

"– a book!" they said together.

As their laughter subsided away, he realised that they were staring into each other's eyes. Cynthia tilted her head as Lucian felt the collar of his shirt tighten. But then, she smiled warmly, miraculously erasing any traces of awkward tension. She straightened her posture and folded her hands behind her back, the white box following her movements. The man in the chair shifted uneasily as he wracked his brain for something to carry the conversation.

"Didn't you say you have an errand to run?" he inquired, running the surface of the golden present under his fingertips.

"Yes," Cynthia answered, but made no move to indicate what the errand was.

"And..?" The man angled his chin.

"You, I'm waiting for you aren't I?" the Champion explained.

Lucian blinked and found himself standing up from his armchair. His legs struggled not to buckle under his weight, and they could not be blamed, he had been roosting in the chair for a few hours without budging. "What do you mean?" he asked, one hand clutched firmly on the present, the other playing with the frame of his spectacles.

"I have a grandmother in Celestic who doesn't like to wait, so we'd better get going," Cynthia said as she left his side and walked over to the tiny Christmas tree and propped the present he had given her under its tiny branches. As Lucian trailed distractingly over and placed the golden box under the care of the tree as well, he saw Cynthia drawing out three other gifts of varying sizes from her bag. The Champion had even gotten the others presents. Lucian couldn't help but smile at the action of her pushing the three gifts near the stump of the little shrub.

But wait.

"What do you mean? Your grandmother?" the man found himself asking.

"For someone so smart, you're pretty slow on the uptake, aren't you, Lucian?" Cynthia laughed as she stood onto her feet. The man humoured her with a half-smile.

"Like I said, no one should spend Christmas alone, that's why you're coming with me to Celestic." The Champion made her way over to the door and held it open, gesturing towards the exit with her earnest grey eyes.

"W-What?" Lucian felt his heart perform a little flip in his chest as he stared blankly at the woman. And he suddenly felt that this, _this_ was not a pointless infatuation. It definitely wasn't.

"Yes Lucian, hurry up." Cynthia grinned.

Was it alright to accompany her unannounced? But then again, the night was dark and while Cynthia could easily fend off any assailers with her team of Pokémon, perhaps it would be safer for her to have a male escort. He then realised that it wasn't polite to make her wait, so he hurried over to the fireplace to search for a good book to bring along to Celestic. But as he felt her warm gaze on his back, his hand stopped short of picking up the book he had abandoned on the seat of the armchair, and he found himself pondering deeply. He retracted his hand from the book and instead, walked over to the coat hanger to grab his deep violet coat.

Perhaps, the company was good for tonight. Better than a book he could leave for tomorrow or the day after that.

Today, just another ordinary, normal day, dubbed as 'Christmas eve' would be prove to be special after all, he supposed. Only because he had company and that company was Cynthia. He took her hand in his and held the door open for her, bowing ever so slightly. A smile that reached for her eyes bloomed on her face as she allowed herself to be led out of the room by him. And Lucian decided that he wanted to feel that soft, warm hand in his for just a while longer. At least, just for the rest of the night – that would set his mind at ease.


	16. Storm : Volkner and Jasmine

**A/N:  
**Hoping that everyone has a fantastic New Year, cheers for the coming 2010! And Flint hijack ftw?

**World -** Game  
**Characters** – Volkner, Jasmine (Alexandrianshipping)  
**Genres** – Romance, Humour  
**Note(s)** – Requested by _Snoaz_

* * *

**Storm : Volkner and Jasmine**

Jasmine tilted her chin and thoroughly took in the feeling of the salty sea air caressing her face. Warm sand collected in between the toes that were barely shielded by her simple white sandals. She glanced sideways at the tall lighthouse of the city, painted in red and white, knowing that it would begin operation at exactly seven-thirty every night, and earlier on stormy days. As a passing ship cleaved the sea, it sounded its horn. At the low bellow, she cupped her hands in front of her, and it almost felt like she was home again.

But she wasn't done here just yet; it would be too soon to leave. She'd like to stay here for awhile longer – the people were generally Samaritans, if just reserved as compared to the outgoing folks of Johto. It was fine with her since she rarely liked talking anyway. The contests, no, super contests, held here were fascinating, most particularly in the dancing segments. For the Steel-type gym leader, it seemed so innovative, and she was inwardly brimming with pride from the outstanding performance of Rusty. The Steelix could never let her down, neither in battles nor contests.

Jasmine breathed out a barely audible sigh, remembering the unmistakable thrill of a gym match.

A nervous cough caused her to cautiously look over her shoulder, homesickness still lingering over her frame. The young man standing a polite distance away from her held his fist to his mouth as he cleared his throat, his gaze lowered and somewhat nonchalant. She took in his blonde hair and navy blue jacket, recognizing that he was the gym leader of Sunnyshore. An expert with Electric-type Pokémon, she strained to recall. Was he looking at her? Jasmine scanned the vicinity for another more likely candidate for the gym leader's attention, but strangely enough, all the frolicking children and loving teenage couples were absent from the beach today. She hadn't really noticed up till now.

"Miss?" the man spoke this time. Jasmine flinched slightly as she was addressed. Why was he talking to her? Was she doing something wrong? She began to self-consciously examine herself, straightening the skirt of her sundress before raising her worried eyes to meet with the solid gaze of the blonde.

"Um… yes?" she squeaked.

"A storm might be approaching soon. You should go to the Pokémon Centre for shelter," he informed her, an absent tone thick in his voice as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his dark pants. He nodded his head lazily towards the sky.

Jasmine held a fist to her chest and turned in the direction he had gestured. She blinked as she realised that there were indeed, crowds of darkened black clouds gathering just in front of the grey horizon. The sea was also starting to churn, producing choppier waves, and the tide was rising, her feet were now fully drenched. She chewed her lower lip sheepishly as she stepped back from the shoreline, the other beach goers must have noticed the changing weather while she was daydreaming.

"Yes… I will. Thank you for your concern." Jasmine bowed gratefully at the man.

"It's my job, and a more interesting highlight, considering the weak trainers that have been coming to the gym nowadays," he lamented, his bored voice emphasizing on how genuinely dull he felt. The gym leader raised one hand to scratch the back of his head, before stiffly jutting out his free arm it the direction of the city, as if he was unfamiliar with escorting someone. Wait, was he escorting her? Usually the policemen in Olvine handled crowd safety during storms.

Jasmine dipped her head in embarrassment as she walked first and the man followed behind her, the lacklustre look ever present in his unblinking eyes. She racked her brains for something to heal the unnerving silence as they ascended the small flight of stairs leading up to the cemented pavements of the city, leaving behind the warmness of the wet sand.

"Um... weak trainers?" she said faintly, hoping that he would be willing to push the conversation along.

"Yes, I've been renovating the Sunnyshore gym just to ease the boredom really." The man gave a muted sigh.

"I-I'm sure that there will be strong trainers who will challenge you soon, Sir." Jasmine tried her best to sound encouraging, her wavering voice causing her attempt to fall short of the mark.

"Sir? I don't look any older than you." The blonde gave a weak chuckle.

"Everyone here calls me Volkner," he carried on to tell her, quickening his pace so that he was walking at her side as they passed the Sunnyshore market. It reminded her that she had to check the stalls out for new pokéball seals to purchase for Rusty.

"V-Volkner, I see," she nodded with understanding.

The blonde raised an eyebrow at this, "You're not from around here, are you?"

"… I came from very far away because I wanted to get stronger. On the way, I met all sorts of people with their Pokémon. They all looked like they were having fun." Jasmine found herself smiling, even as the winds picked up and thunder boomed in the background. She used one hand to tame her mess of flying chestnut hair.

"I felt happy seeing it," she said with sincerity.

Volkner laughed, seemingly amused. His eyes did not look as cold and as unfeeling as before. "More than anything, I just want battles that can thrill me again. That's what'll make me happy. I mean, what's the point of being the toughest gym leader in Sinnoh if you aren't approached by a capable challenger now and then?"

Jasmine found herself nodding with agreement as they rounded a bend at the city's Poké Mart. At least she could understand him better now, as a gym leader, one hoped to be given the toughest challengers as possible. They were what truly tested one's ability. And yet, strong challengers weren't the only one who could benefit you.

"I-It's good to have compassionate challengers as well, the trainers who are kind and understanding to Pokémon," she found herself saying as her hand closed around a dear Poké Ball clasped onto the waistline of her sundress. Her thoughts drifted to the kind boy who had helped her in Olvine. Only after a few seconds did she realise that what she was saying was probably confusing Volkner. It was a relief that the Pokémon Center was just one street away; she was never good with talking to new people. They always made her feel uneasy. Pokémon were so much easier to understand.

But as she risked a glance to her side, she saw that Volkner was giving her a look. Though his mouth remained just a thin, tight line on his face, his gaze was surprisingly alive and keen. Interest flashed across his otherwise stony face. And she took notice of how blue his eyes were, so purely blue, like the colour of the sea. Then, realisation surfaced on his face.

"Are you a gy-" Volkner was cut short as a drop of rain landed squarely on his nose, followed by many more pellets of water as the drizzle began to shower from the dark clouds now looming above. The blonde curved his hand around her back, taking care not to touch her by accident as he proceeded to lead her towards the shelter of the Pokécenter.

Jasmine was relieved that she hadn't gotten too wet, tugging subtly at the parts of the dress that were sticking to her body. Volkner abruptly turned away as he combed a hand through his hair, spraying a wave of rain onto the ground. He readjusted his jacket and brushed off any traces of raindrops before starting to speak.

"I wanted to ask if you're a gym-"

_Beep._

_Beep._

_BEEP._

Jasmine tucked a wet strand of hair behind her ear as she heard a whispered swear and saw Volkner fumbling with the left pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a dark black cellphone and edged over to a corner to answer the call. She stood there; folding her hands behind her back as others came running under the roof of the Pokémon Center, sheltering themselves from the drizzle. A group of children pointed and chattered animatedly amongst themselves, tossing Volkner amazed and respectful looks as they huddled past him and into the building.

When the blonde tucked the phone back into his jacket, he walked over to her with an apologetic countenance.

"I've got to go now, there's a challenger at the gym," he explained unhappily, beginning to take off his jacket to use as a makeshift umbrella.

"G-Good luck then!" Jasmine piped up in a quick, jittery response, and found it odd when she realised that she didn't want him to go just yet. However, the gym leader was already strolling out into the weak rain.

Then, he turned around.

"But could you at least tell me your name?" Volkner asked.

"J-Jasmine… You can call me Jasmine. And I'll go back to the beach once the storm rolls over," she told him meekly, unsure how or why she had decided to add in the last part. He had just asked for her name.

"I see. Then maybe we'll see each other again," Volkner said, his lips curling slightly.

It was far from being considered a real smile, but it was a good start, Jasmine thought. With one final wave, the man departed and she was left standing outside the entrance of the Pokécenter alone. As he walked up a flight of stairs leading to the solar-panelled streets stretching out over her head, she pulled out a shining disc from the pocket of her white dress. She twirled the rare HM in her small hands and decided that she would give the disc to someone who was truly deserving of it. Someone who was strong enough to satisfy Volkner… yes, that was a good criterion.

She tucked the HM away as she watched him stroll overhead; she smiled softly as he tossed her one final friendly glance.

Then out of nowhere, a blur of red and yellow pounced out of hiding on the walkways. Volkner's jacket flew dramatically in the air, and he was nonchalant no more as a horrified expression instantaneously etched itself on his face. The second party stood at an angle that disallowed Jasmine to see his face. As the faint drizzle started to pour down into a heavier rain, the two men began to run towards the Sunnyshore gym, Volkner being forcibly lugged along by the mysterious person. She could only cock her head to the side, finding that head of crimson red hair very familiar as mocking laughs echoed in the air, overpowering even the howling winds.


	17. Rainbow : Frontier Brains

**A/N:**  
If you liked this, be sure to check out _fugthimble_'s Charmed Grasshopper (: And it becomes slightly (totally) crackish at the end because I couldn't help it, and I had to put in Noland/Anabel somehow. These seven are so interesting.

**World** – Manga  
**Characters** – Noland, Anabel, Brandon, Lucy, Tucker, Greta, Spenser  
**Genres** – Humour, Romance, Friendship  
**Note(s)** – Requested by _Sapphire_, implied couple is Noland/Anabel.

* * *

**Rainbow : Frontier Brains**

**1.**

Noland doesn't know what to do because he has no knowledge in this fort. Is it normal for someone, for a Frontier Brain, to have feelings for their respected leader? He runs a gruff hand across his left, poorly shaken, cheek and removes his red cap to use as a calming fan. It's utterly ridiculous, because it's not possible that a talented battle strategist like him could go weak in the knees just on account of the fact that Anabel had smiled at him, tapped his shoulder, complimented him. He thinks that this awkward sensation became more prominent after the Jirachi episode, where Guile had clashed with Emerald, as well as a host of Pokédex holders. He had been relieved, comforted, that Anabel had not been harmed in the process. That was fairly normal, right? Everyone else had also been worried for her, though _everyone else _may not have thought that she continued to shine with elegant class, even when covered with numerous bruises. Noland's cheeks redden at the thought, and suddenly, the room feels too stuffy and his coat becomes too heavy for him.

The young brunette standing on the other side of the battle field taps one loud sneaker against the smooth, white floor of the Battle Factory. He vaguely remembers that she walked into the room about five minutes ago, but can't clearly recall anything beyond that.

"Hey, mister, when are we going to start?" she asks impatiently.

Something's wrong, he'd better go look for some help after this.

**2.**

Tucker performs an exaggerated gesture; he flings his arms out in a would-be embrace, and advises Noland to use bolder tactics. The Factory Head cups a hand to his ear and strains to hear the Dome Ace from his current position near the ceiling of the large building, hanging from iron strings held by the Salamence currently gliding through the air. Noland rethinks about coming to Tucker for advice, especially when he is too caught up with training for his unrequired, but crowd-pleasing, performances. When Tucker finally plants his feet down onto stable ground, not before doing a stunning back flip, mind you, Noland rashly assumes it safe to approach the flamboyant man. Tucker slaps a hand on his back and inserts a hearty laugh.

"I knew it! I knew it all along!" He grins from ear to ear, much to the discomfort of the Factory Head.

So the duo seat themselves on the nearest line of benches set aside for the spectators, and Noland explains to him the current situation. Tucker nods occasionally, smiles every few moments, before snapping his fingers and yelling aloud, interrupting Noland in the process.

"It's simply that you have a thing for Anabel, and you aren't focusing on your duties because of it. Just catch her attention and impress her maiden heart to get her to reciprocate those lovey-dovey feelings back at you! I'll be supporting you all the way, buddy! " Tucker winks wryly, twirling one arm in a circular motion, as if to demonstrate that Noland will have to rigorously plan out and successfully perform a deathly stunt in order to win the fair Anabel's love.

Noland winces noticeably, then proceeds to excuse himself.

**3.**

Greta pumps a fist and orders him to summon up more guts. Noland gapes at her as she delivers a roundhouse kick into a pitiful man clad in karate gear. As the blackbelt withstands the force of the impact and rolls cautiously across the sparring mat, the blonde girl wipes her forehead with one hand and rolls up her dark sleeves. She does not intend to stop her training all together just to speak with him. Greta claims that she can skilfully multi-task, as long as she puts her mind to it.

"Just go up to her –" she jabs a punch to the man and misses barely an inch, "– and tell her –" she dodges a flying leg "– how you feel!" Greta's fist connects with the man's chin with a loud '_crack_', earning him a deserving rest on the floor, and her, an accomplished smile. As she walks over, chin high and stride large, Noland tosses her a dry towel, which she catches and proceeds to sling around her neck. She joins him on the tatami floor and folds her blue-coloured legs under her body.

"You see, Anna's really dense. If you want to get her, you gotta' be a man about it, and confess to her." Greta folds her arms and leans forward so that her flame-filled eyes are staring up into his. Nolands gulps audibly at the thought of telling the Salon Maiden his infatuation. The woman sitting opposite shakes her head with a heavy sigh, and proceeds to pull a Pokégear out from the pocket of her pink-black jacket. Noland's eyes widen a great deal.

"Hello? Anna? There's something I want to tell you, cause Nolan– _gah_!"

She is abruptly cut short as Noland tackles her deftly without really thinking, thankfully knocking the deadly device out of her hands. Later on, after he apologises profusely and prepares to leave the Battle Arena, Greta suggests that he join her for training whenever he is free.

**4.**

Lucy chortles, then mentions something about luck. As Noland raises his eyebrow, she slinks off her luxurious chair and strays one hand over her contented Seviper. The woman, who is lithe and beautiful, but bears no effect on him juxtaposed to Anabel, laces her fingers as she addresses him.

"Small, subtle hints, Noland. That is the way you will win her heart." Lucy's smile is a small, thin line of red lipstick on her face. "If you two are meant to be, she will notice, and she will respond," the Pike Queen explains with a patient whisper of a voice. As her lips curl, Noland feels apprehension edge up his spine.

"But Greta said that Anabel won't notice," he reasons with her, honestly confused.

"Oh, don't listen to that girl." Lucy waves a dismissive hand.

"What? Why?" Noland asks.

"She trains so much, no doubt even her brain has been reduced to dense muscle," Lucy sighs as her purple-gem eyes scour the room that is located at the end of the Battle Pike.

"But I can't just rely on luck! Lucy, you know me, I don't stake things on chance, I'm more logical than that –" Noland starts to say, but comes to a cautious halt as the woman with the cascading black hair hides an amused laugh behind her gloved hand. She rests her arms on the coiled body of her snake Pokémon as the laughing slowly wears off.

"Oh Noland," Lucy chides, "Are you not the Frontier Brain who obtains a set of Pokémon at random?"

The man stops to think, and feels like an anvil has been dropped onto his head.

"I would say, you place stakes on chance more so than I do. For I always have my darling Seviper with me on hand," the Pike Queen coos indulgingly to her hissing reptilian comrade. And as the trainer and Pokémon share a rare, bonding moment together, Noland steals away with light footsteps, far too spooked by the mysterious Lucy to stay in the Pike any longer.

**5.**

Brandon points a teasing finger and commends him for being so brave.

Noland tries to ignore the mocking comments as he looks out over the island from the top of the Battle Pyramid. Only when Brandon places a supportive hand on his shoulder, does he know that the Pyramid King is serious.

"I'm no love guru, so you'd better go to Spenser if you're looking for sound advice," Brandon chuckles loudly. Noland soon notices that that is the first piece of sensibility anyone has graced him with today. Tucker was being too farfetched with his plans, Greta was too obscenely direct, while Lucy was just plain enigmatic. He gives his good friend a parting pat on the arm before descending a series of stairs, raising a lantern in one hand.

**6.**

Spenser sighs with one hand on his cane, tells him to believe in his spirit.

"You people make things too unnecessarily complicated nowadays!" the old man laments.

"Back in my day, when we liked a girl, we would ask them out, maybe for dinner," Spenser says with that sagely voice of his. "And if we really liked the girl –" the elder taps the end of his wooden cane against the marble floors of the Battle Palace for emphasis, "we'd just try our best not to screw up around her, maybe even confess if we thought she liked us back." The old man softens his grouchy countenance and allows an encouraging smile to spread across his face, one that is lined with years of honed experience and well-taught lessons.

Noland holds his awed gaze on the Palace Maven, finding that those words made absolute perfect sense. He has a notebook ready in one hand, and is already scribbling down notes with a pencil he finds in the pocket of his coat. The old man laughs lightly and reaches out a hand to cover the paper, barring the pencil from recording down any further information.

"Son, you need to relax. This isn't Jirachi we're talking about. It is, after all, only Anabel." Spenser offers him one last piece of advice before waving one hand and wandering back into the chambers of the palace.

"_Only_ Anabel," Noland repeats to himself, storing the notebook in his pocket.

"Yeah, right."

**7.**

Anabel blinks, like understanding what Noland is doing is beyond her ability.

"W-would you like to have dinner?"

"Tonight, I mean," he coughs and tries to imagine it to be just like any other meeting about trainer statistics and the factory Pokémon's wellbeing.

The Salon Maiden tilts her head before a smile blossoms on her face, "That sounds excellent!" she says earnestly, her lively eyes causing his heart to malfunction. Noland immediately wishes that he hadn't chosen to speak to her outside the Battle Tower – all the passing trainers are unnerving him. With these staring, suspecting eyes pinned on him, and he would gladly climb seventy flights of stairs just to escape the ridicule of being rejected by Anabel.

Wait, she hasn't rejected him. Well, at least not yet.

"Ah, I can't wait." Anabel claps her hands together once, a smile unfurling on her face. Noland can't resist but return the grin as his initial uncertainty and apprehension begins to ebb away at her smile.

"The seven of us haven't had a meal together since, forever," the Salon Maiden continues to say, a hand on her chin as her eyes wander, as if she is thinking about a suitable eatery that could satisfy seven elite trainers with entirely differing appetites. "It would be a good way to celebrate our victory over Guile Hideout," Anabel nods calmly to herself as Noland feels something sharp and barbed poke the lining of as throat. His gut feels twisted, as if the very fine lunch had not agreed with him today.

The man can't really bring himself to correct her, can he?

"Celebrating?" He manages to prevent himself from stuttering.

"Yes, it deserves one, no?" Anabel inquires, knitting her brow as she senses Noland's uneasiness.

"Yes, I agree," the Factory Head finds himself saying.

"Great." The young female grins as she faces him, her eyes fixate squarely on him for a few awkward moments. Noland starts to suspect that he has developed a habit of gluing his eyes to the intricate detailing of the walkways. As Anabel sighs softly, he looks up and wonders if his poor social skills have discomforted her. The leader of the Frontier Brains, however, seems to be more amused rather than angry.

"You know, I haven't given you a proper thanks for saving me," the Salon Maiden informs him.

"What? Anabel, there's completely no need for that," Noland argues back swiftly.

A muted laugh escapes her mouth as she plants a hand on his left shoulder and urges him to lower his stance. And even then, he notices that she is still rather short, and well, that is all he notices afterwards, because suddenly Anabel has kissed him, so wonderfully innocently, on the cheek. Noland feels his blood rise to his head _(thank the gods)_ as the Salon Maiden steps away and waves a quick goodbye.

"I have the best place in mind for dinner!" she calls out, before jogging off down the road.

Noland is left on the road, one eye twitching in inane disbelief, with a hand hovering over his cheek, there is an inward struggle of whether to touch the kiss spot or not. Before he can come to a resolve on the question, he hears steady clapping behind him, and quickly turns to see Brandon with a full grin on his face, applauding the Factory Head. Behind him, in the bushes, there are three other hauntingly familiar heads partially obscured in the thickets of leaves. And bringing up the rear, Spenser sits on a bench with a bemused curl in his lips, his hands resting on his standing cane.

Noland points and sputters, he makes a sound that comes between a gag and a retch.

"Sorry Noland, but when you left, I couldn't help but tail you on your grand escapades, and everyone else began to follow on their own accord." Tucker's voice came from the bushes. Next to the source of the apologetic male voice, an energetic hand, he assumes it is Greta's, bursts out from the leaves to give the flustered Noland a congratulatory thumbs-up. Lucy rises out from her hiding place, brushing off the dirt and extracting stray twigs from her mussed hair before giving Noland a knowing (creepy) smile.

Dinner, tonight. With all of them.

Oh _damn_.


	18. Icicle : Thorton and Dahlia

**World** – Game  
**Characters** – Thorton, Dahlia  
**Genres** – Romance, Humour  
**Notes(s)** – Requested by _Golden-Owl_. Forgive me if the two seem OOC, I do not own Platinum so I can't really get a distinct feel for their characters. I researched them on Bulbapedia though, and I chose to insert more bombastic language into Thorton's speech – makes him sound more nerdy/cute.

* * *

**Icicle: Dahlia and Thorton**

It had been a typical, orderly day at the Battle Factory, as calculated by Thorton. No victors had managed to emerge so far, which meant that his current battle strategy must have been competent. Excellent, he would be able to utilise the method in future battles. The young boy returned three Poké Balls onto a metallic tray which was promptly wheeled away by a helpful Factory nurse. He gave her an acknowledging bow before punching in a few more digits into the palm-sized device nestled in his hand, his eyebrows scrunching as he tried to elicit more solid and useful data to help improve his skills as the Factory Head. Numbers flashed by the glassy screen as the machine continued to read the information, and pretty soon, he would yield more results. To put it simply, it was a very fulfilling and peaceful day for the contented Thorton.

Save for the fact that one thing had escaped his predictions – said thing being the tall, statuesque woman barging in through the doors leading to his room. The abrupt sound jolted the surprised boy, who became intensely frantic as his data-analyzing machine nearly flew out of his grasp. Had he known that that was about to happen, he would have installed a padlock of some sort – on second thought, maybe five. Perhaps more security cameras positioned at the gate of the factory to prevent blind spots would be good too. Thorton quickly jotted down the note into his device as the Arcade Star sashayed up to him, all perky smiles and keen eyes.

"How do I look, Thorton?" Dahlia asked, her voice exuding anticipation and hopefulness.

The Factory Head spared her a glance before turning back to his machine. He did not want to be bothered now, must less by a woman who wanted to be showered with praises in order to gain a boost in her – already inflated – self-confidence. Thorton did a double take, scrutinizing her for anything out of place. Dahlia stood incredibly still, arms rigid at her sides as she waited for his conclusion. He typed a few experimental digits and pointed his data-analyzing machine at the woman. Thorton raised a questioning eyebrow at the results.

As he cleared his throat, the female inched closer to him, her eyes wide and anxious.

"Your thighs are far from slim, Dahlia, have you been snacking on Darach's cupcakes? And your shoes are dirty with dust, you should wash them. And did you not pay enough attention when ironing the sleeves of your shirt? I can clearly identify distinct wrinkles. And according to my calculations, you've gained approximately one and a half kilograms since a fortnight ago," Thorton droned before switching off his machine and inserting it into the back pocket of his green pants.

Dahlia bounced up and down, her boots clonking noisily against the spotless tiles of the factory. "So what if I happened to help Cait' finish a few more treats? And perhaps, by chance, I forgot to iron my clothes?" Her hands clenched into fists over her chest as she bit her lip indignantly in defence. She proceeded to tower over the nonchalant boy. "Don't be mean, Thorton! I was talking about my hair!" She gave the Factory Head numerous slaps on the shoulder, not considering to stop till the boy finally gave in and turned his head to signify that she had his attention.

The boy kept that unimpressed look on his face as she proceeded to flip her elegant ponytail. She had chosen to tie and tame her long hair, admittedly a new style – but not one that made Thorton budge with earnest enthusiasm. Once you essentially got acquainted with Dahlia, you learned to deal with her eccentricities, and over time, trained to tune her out. The boy extended a hand out and gave a portion of her hair a tentative rub.

The woman blinked and grew unusually quiet as Thorton examined, obviously not expecting his hand to reach out for her.

"… Observe, you have split ends–"

The boy promptly received a '_thonk_' on the head, and the last thing he remembered for the rest of that day was inky silk slipping between his fingers as he floated back into the embrace of a comforting darkness while a streak of golden marched away in a huff.

* * *

The next day, Dahlia returned back to the factory with newly rediscovered zeal, and this time, Thorton was prepared – or so he thought. He hugged a hard-cover dictionary he had been reading tightly in his arms. Not only did it serve as very useful source material for his study, it would prove to be a good shield from any physical onslaughts the – questionably sane – woman would think to throw. Yes, punches and maybe high kicks, he was equipped to handle, but certainly, he was unprepared for the sight of Dahlia appearing through the parting double doors in a shimmering dress, a curtain of black hair cascading behind her.

The back dipped alluring, the front – _just_ modestly – low and exposing a taunting cleavage, the long sleeves somewhat salvaging the decency of the whole fashion statement. The full skirt of the collared golden dress barely reached for the tops of her kneecaps. Had Thorton been thrown off balance, he did not try to show it too obviously. He quirked an eyebrow as he came out from between_ integrity_ and _intellect_, his face succeeded in betraying nothing more.

"Good morning, Thorton!" Dahlia greeted, a teasing smile playing across her amused face.

"Good day," the young brain answered, maintaining the pitch of his voice.

"So, is this any better? Argenta said it really suits me,"

"This was not cleared by the committee, we have to wear our standard attire when on duty, Dahlia," Thorton informed her quite pointedly, his eyes strayed on the edge of her skirt before snapping back to concentrate – or at least attempt to – on the pages of his open book. He leaned back into his plastic chair and placed an uneasy hand on the dictionary resting on his lap.

"Palmer was too speechless to tell me otherwise." Dahlia grinned broadly, no hint of hesitation or doubt mincing with the tone she spoke. Though faintly amused, he couldn't help but relate her to a hormonal teenage girl.

"Your neck is plain and bare, it destroys the refined class of the get-up, I'm afraid. I have read before that accessories are of utmost importance in creating a well-rounded effect," Thorton repeated the words he had once come across in a glossy, pinkish magazine aimed at girls ranging from the age of twelve to sixteen – one could not blame him, he had no shame to admit he loved to study unexplored, alien topics. Though hardly intriguing, they did come in handy sometimes.

Dahlia faltered at his words, as if discouraged and beaten. Her eyes lowered and her mouth twitched into a tiny grimace. Thorton's gaze could not shift away from her now, this outcome had not been predicted – he had thought of ways to deal with an enraged Dahlia, a laughing Dahlia, possibly an insane Dahlia – but never a sad one. The odd sensation was fleeting as the woman drew a breath and rose back to her full height, dusting along the flow of her dress as she exhaled and proceeded to give Thorton a good scowl.

"One day, you'll crack, Thorton. You aren't the type to lie, so you'll definitely call me pretty. I'll melt that cold shoulder of yours soon enough," she challenged him.

The boy remained wisely silent, but received a punch on the head nonetheless.

"Maybe I'll be luckier next time," she whistled as she strolled away from the stiff Factory Head. He surveyed her back, not failing to notice that she was wearing silver flats instead of the usual high-sandals. That made it so the two of them were now of nearly equal standing in terms of height. The boy allowed a small, sheepish 'harrumph' to escape from his curved lips as he returned back to _incomprehensible_. Luck would have no part in the whole frustrating shenanigan. He ran a cautious finger over the sore spot growing on his head.

And when had Dahlia realised that he was somewhat irked by their difference in height?

* * *

When the Arcade Star came back clad in her usual jeans and golden shirt, Thorton was initially pleased – then, he saw her blinding nails and pink cheeks and blue eyes and long eyelashes and thick red lips. The male furrowed his brow and bothered with nothing more than a shake of the head, much to Dahlia's dismay. The makeup was far too heavy, and the way it magnified her eyes was unflattering. The light pink hue of the blush applied to her face did not agree with her evenly-tanned skin. Thorton had learned from past – painful – experiences that his comments would be most unwelcome, but the disapproving look that appeared on his face was enough to push Dahlia over an imaginary edge.

The woman pivoted any from him and hunched over as she shoulders wracked and her breathing hitched. When high-strung sobs echoed through the halls of the factory, Thorton jolted with unprecedented fear and the numerous nurses and workers began to scurry away from the main room.

Wait, wait, Dahlia never cried! She was Dahlia; she smiled in the face of crude comments and laughed at rude jokes. She did not shed tears, she could not – Palmer would not be happy if he found out that the Factory Head had made his Arcade Star tearful, the Tower Tycoon strongly laid a law that all Frontier Brains had to have clean and supportive relationships with one another. Thorton instantly shuddered at the thought of getting scolded – worse still_, demerit points_ – but then again, he soon realised that Dahlia's current sorrow deserved more of his attention and worry.

"Calm down, Dahlia. You need not make such a big fuss," he said, sincerely feeling concerned over her.

"How am I supposed to calm down, Thorton?" the woman demanded to know In a muffled voice.

Before the Factory Head had a chance to list out the many effective ways that he had already devised in his mind, he was rudely interrupted. Shame, really.

"You keep on telling me all of the negative aspects! Can't there be something you like? Something that's good?" Dahlia practically howled. "Or has my luck run out?" Dahlia threatened to burst into more sobs of tears, and Thorton panicked like every other citizen of the male population would in such horrific situations. The boy placed a hesitant and trembling hand on her arm and tapped her gently, as if dealing with a ticking time bomb that would threaten to explode if one made the wrong move – frankly speaking, the bomb would have been his preferred choice.

"Listen, Dahlia, I suppose I may have been a tad harsh on you," Thorton struggled to admit.

"A _tad_?" the Arcade Star squeaked, throwing figurative daggers at him with her lethal eyes.

"Okay, fine. Maybe more than a tad, but I meant well." The boy shrugged his shoulders and let go of her as she rubbed the heel of her hand against her eyes and turned to face him. Her lipstick was smudged and her eye shadow messily spread to parts outside the area of her eye. Her mascara was not running, however, from which he instantly deduced that the young lady had been faking a cry to startle him. He tactfully ignored all of that and got to the point.

"I find you to be a very beautiful woman, but more so when you aren't applying faux cosmetics to cover your natural beauty and wearing inappropriate outfits," Thorton coughed as he folded his arms and turned away from the instantly transfixed woman.

"Wha- then why all those bad comments?" Dahlia blinked.

"I am but a trainer who has many a ways to go, I do not dwell on the things that have been achieved, I only give my attention to the errors and how they can be improved – that is how calculations become more precise and how my battling strategies will prevail," the boy explained. "If I spent every waking moment thinking about the good things and my achievements, I would never get around to doing anything productive, would I?" he hazarded a dry chuckle. Thankfully, Dahlia smiled along with brightening eyes.

"So you were just helping me sort out my flaws so I could improve?" the brunette inquired, stepping closer to the increasingly embarrassed boy.

"You could put it that way," Thorton mumbled hesitantly.

"Then, tell me all my good points, I mean, I must have some, right?" Dahlia pleaded with a voice he could not refuse.

"… There are too many for me to recite. It would be troublesome," the boy grumbled.

Dahlia tilted her head to the right as a warm smile blossomed on her glowing face. She planted a hand on his head and began to ruffle his hair in an affectionate gesture. The boy grabbed a hold of his favourite green hat, but otherwise, did not complain. He would smooth out his hair with a comb later on; the estimated time would be at most, two minutes.

"I'm lucky to have a dorky friend like you," Dahlia grinned.

"I am not your friend solely because of luck," Thorton corrected her with a raised eyebrow.

"I know, I know. It's because of so many other reasons, am I right?" she narrowed her eyes and focused her attention on him as she giggled happily. He rolled his eyes and took out his data-analyzing machine; perhaps he could install a function that could help him predict when Dahlia was going to tease him.

"… Perhaps."


	19. Coal : Bill and Daisy

**A/N:  
**Okay, so I had a hard time with this, no thanks to the fact that there was virtually no other Teashipping fics to give me ideas on these two. They are so sweet/peaceful compared to the other pairings I've written, hence it's hard to write something romantic because I'm usually used to doing that with conflicts/obstacles to work on. And hence, the shortness of this piece. Regardless, let's all cross our fingers k?

Anyway, Valentines request tiem, peoples. Check out my profile for more info.

**World **– Manga  
**Characters** – Bill, Daisy (Teashipping)  
**Genres** – General, Romance  
**Note(s)** – Requested by _Sora  
_

* * *

**Coal : Bill and Daisy**

The fall had been hard.

Of course, it had to happen to him. Things like these always preyed on him like starving vultures – he was always the one who had to be morphed into a Rattata hybrid and the unlucky soul who tripped over untied shoelaces, only to land on the drying soil paving the dirt path leading away from the lab. Not to mention the one who was incapable of fixing the Pokémon storage system for months. He frowned into the ground, biting the inside of his right cheek and resisting the urge to just curse himself for his constant run-ins with said demeaning predicaments.

Conversely, as she dashed up to him with her cotton slippers still on, only to confirm that he was mostly unharmed, save for his wavering pride, she smiled in a heavenly way. She lifted him off the dirt with her gentle touch, polishing him with her warm fingers and offering him to return back inside for a soothing drink with a voice that meant nothing but heart-warming sincerity. He stuttered and breathed and ravaged his blurring mind to invent a way to resist the burning temptation to take her up on the attractive offer. He wasn't going to go back in there; sure, the lab had the best facilities and a handy coffee-maker, but he had his own house and workspace back at Cerulean. Why had coming to Pallet evolved into a guilt-ridden habit?

It was a rhetorical question, but one that needed to be answered nonetheless.

Her hand continued to rest at the crook of his arm as she bent over to collect the scattered, soaking documents with fingers that weren't meant to be stained and vandalized with the undeserving mud. He mumbled shyly as he joined her and gathered the cardboard box with browned arms and wet sleeves, his voice barely a whisper in the breeze of the afternoon.

"T-Thanks."

She held the stack of papers to the pocket of her white lab coat, and responded with an understanding grin that only served to make him experience an additional load of awkward, teenage-ish feelings. It was humiliating, really. Because wasn't he supposed to be a grown man? He closed his eyes and chuckled feebly with a tight mouth while tossing the pencils and staplers absently back into the box.

Daisy made him feel like he was back in high school again. Except that he never found the prom queen quite so entrancing.

But he recalled the hell of a time he had trying to ask out a female bookworm he had had his spectacled eye on. He hadn't even gotten the chance to get rejected before he broke his arm painfully.

He swiped the documents from Daisy's arms and forcibly stuffed them in with the other contents contained in his cardboard. And as the researcher lifted the heavy box in his arms and proceeded to turn away from the direction of the lab, intending to incorporate a speedy escape with his actions, she called out to him again, curiosity laced in her softening voice.

"Why are you leaving so early today? I haven't even gotten a chance to make us some tea," Daisy asked, her eyebrows furrowing with worry.

Well, there were numerous explanations for his sudden decision – namely the fact that he couldn't concentrate on his calculations with her hovering around the room, the fact that he had developed an unhealthy addiction for her tea, coffee and tap water, and the obvious emotion of gnawing frustration when he couldn't get his words across to her. But the plethora of reasons seemed to choke his throat and restrict his breathing, and he sputtered like he had swallowed something unnecessary. Or maybe he just couldn't summon up the courage to tell her his growing affection for her.

As she addressed him with those deadly innocent eyes of hers, he felt his heart pop audibly in his chest.

Bill slammed the box on the ground at his feet as he lowered himself into a squatting position to groan loudly. As she hurried over with concern, clutching his shoulder in the process, he confirmed the annoying deduction once more. Her words and touches warmed him and excited him and obliviously caused him to feel the insane emotion called happiness, in spite of his failing life. She was the one who made him believe in the state of mind called optimism.

And he had fallen in love with Daisy Oak, and Green was going to butcher him. He didn't even want to consider inserting the professor into the equation.

Falling wasn't the hardest part – surviving was.


	20. Glacier : Bugsy and Sabrina

**World **– Manga  
**Characters** – Bugsy, Sabrina  
**Genres** – Humour, General, Romance _(invisible/not really)  
_**Note(s)** – hurr hurr, this is totally going to be canon in the HGSS arc.

* * *

**Glacier : Bugsy and Sabrina**

"Are you lost?" The violet-haired male cranes his head to the side.

The woman pins her narrowing eyes briefly on him before shifting her gaze away, her long veil of black hair kicking up the dirt layering the floors. She stalks off in a separate direction, barely even acknowledging the existence of the other gym leader in the musty environment. She coughs as she inhales a cloud of dust and waves away a few obstructive cobwebs, winding through another series of consecutive junctions and caging walls. Her steps rebound off the restrictive hallways, her hands are too vain to touch the dust-inscribed walls lining around her.

"Stop following me," she hisses as she turns around to address the stalker.

"But you don't seem to know where you're going, and you didn't answer my question, so I thought I should keep an eye of you just in case– " He halts drastically when she chooses to glare vehemently at him from the corner of her visibly irritated eye.

"I do not need a babysitter – I am Sabrina, the all-seeing psychic," she announces unperturbed, her voice noncommittal as it brims with habitual pride and a dash of annoyance. She glues a hand to her jutting hip and lets her hair stream freely behind the shoulders of her magenta blouse. "In fact, you seem to fit more appropriately in a day care, little girl," she adds in with a mixture of disinterest and mockery. A scowl that requires little effort spreads fluidly across her pale face. The gym leader pivots on her right heel and tunes him out of her line of sight.

"Um, I'm a guy… remember?" Bugsy raises the hand that isn't clutching his net, visibly embarrassed.

"Remember what of you?" Sabrina drawls loathingly.

"We've had a match before, haven't we? At the gym leader tournament? " he offers.

The lady performs a sweeping gaze from over her terse shoulder, her eyes half-lidded and her expression dripping heavily with nonchalance and trained arrogance. A smirk teases her twitching lips before she nods vaguely and begins to saunter off down the dimly lit corridors. He takes it as a precautionary signal to follow, and remaining at her smart heels, is something he manages reasonably well.

"You're the pitiful leader, the boy who fell to me, aren't you?" the psychic finally regards him with mild acceptance.

"Glad you remember." Bugsy smiles tightly because he can take a few punches and they don't hurt that much, neither do they leave a scarring mark. He's handled his share of victories and losses, mostly with a chin held high and a surprising pride in his bugs. The woman probably just doesn't know of the proper way to integrate herself with an acquaintance, and he's alright with that, he likes to assume his patience is well-handled. She wasn't as dangerous as most people whispered about, and she was far less a notorious femme fatale – more so nearly like the Unown.

The black little things were regular refugees in the tunnels of the ruins, quiet and composed and mysterious. On his first chance meetings with them, the floating creatures startled easily and let out a blast of unplaced power before bolting off into the cover of the yawning shadows. Sabrina did resemble them to an extent – but perhaps the symbol Pokémon were slightly more courteous, if not, less tenacious in competition. He shifted the pole of his net on his shoulder as they made a turn.

"I've improved since then, though," Bugsy adds, almost in a challenge.

A laugh escapes her thin lips. "Oh really? I frankly doubt so," she shoots with ease.

The male quickens his pace and catches up so that he is jogging at her side – he blushes faintly when he sees that she is slightly taller than him. Sabrina's eyes flicker to him before adjusting back to the stoned road in front, her mouth stubborn, but the purple in her gaze lilting significantly in secretive amusement. Bugsy definitely suffers under the weight of indignance at this point.

"I've trained hard, and sometimes, psychic powers can't detect something like heart," he informs her with a voice that is sharpened a volume higher – but not one that could stab.

The woman rolls her eyes and flashes him a look that paralyzes.

"Don't even begin with a speech about morals and all that crap," Sabrina orders in something that only partially resembles a tired plea, "I've had enough of that," she admits, a sigh escaping her pursed mouth. The bug-specialist responds without words this time, but just an arch of the eyebrow and a searching gaze. The psychic grumbles audibly and combs a fidgety hand through the night of her hair. "I hate emotions like belief and trust and… love." She practically gags out the last syllable, like it is bitter and too sugary at the same time.

"But without those, life would be pretty boring, right?" Bugsy suggests.

"I love my bugs, and that's why they are strong." He grins in the mention of his champions.

Sabrina crumples her brow and addresses him with a look that one would usually reserve for a drunken hobo tap –dancing in the gutter of the street.

"They aren't." She tilts her head, bored and lifeless and tired of stating the obvious.

"They won't if I have that kind of attitude." Bugsy blinks calmly, his voice wrapped in seriousness.

Sabrina inhales, her shoulders jerking subtly and her hands clenching softly in the process. She wonders if she still has the drive left in her to dispose of him and his filthy, degrading dreams. But mostly she just itches to smother those repulsive, unreal ethics that should be rightfully labelled as liabilities; crush them because they are frail and brittle and make an entertaining noise in fruitlessness. She closes her eyes for a brief moment as a vision suddenly permeates her mind, and she isn't surprised when Bugsy comes to an abrupt stop ahead of her and turns to stare with a humiliating determination aflame in his eyes.

She knows that he will challenge her before the words take form in his brain.

"Let's have a rematch," the purple-haired proposes with a friendly smile.

Sabrina widens her eyes as a scene flickers momentarily in an invasion of her thoughts. A spectacle she hardly expects to see, and one that shakes her inwardly. On the outside, her face is merely dark, her eyes pinned straight ahead in a stone cold gaze. As she reattaches with the current reality and focuses in on Bugsy's beaming countenance, she feels strangely sick. This sensation isn't something she has predicted beforehand, and that irks her a little too much. But the gym leader hurries to retain her composure – like she has so many times before.

She instinctively snorts and stomps off.

She thinks she is going crazy, and that her psyche has been infected with something vile. Because this morning, the unplaced urge to come to the Ruins of Alph has led her straight into the way of an annoying insect. And if that isn't suicidal-inducing enough, he begins spouting utter gibberish about an unwelcomed rematch. She quickens her pace as he lags behind her, and hastily unclips her Kadabra's pokéball from her metal belt. She isn't leaving because she's running away from a fight – Sabrina never runs. Bugsy is merely not a worthy opponent.

And she isn't getting her judgement clouded by a vision where she is at a loss.


	21. Hive : Noland and Greta

**World **– Game  
**Characters **– Noland, Greta  
**Genres** – Romance, Humour, General  
**Note(s)** – slightly-naughty!Noland and oblivious!Greta. Requested by _inked kisses. _

**

* * *

**

Hive : Noland and Greta

The blonde appreciated the organised bustle of the workers, decked out in white bodysuits and adorable matching caps as they scurried across the floor, with an elevated brow. She vaulted back, barely avoiding a spectacled man who came charging by, hugging varying numbers of pokéballs to his chest as he mumbled a string of words about rearranging the capsules, programming the machines, and a seventh cup of coffee. The frontier brain then propped her fists to her hips and marched over to the man currently seated in front of a large panel of security screens and enticing buttons. Apart from the occasional third person invading the room to collect printed documents, the head honcho had the entire space to himself, the challenger's room only one hallway away.

The atmosphere was unsettling to her somehow, in the way that everything was sacked perfectly in place and that the immediate surroundings smelt freshly of soap and disinfectant. And the noise – or lack thereof – made her scrunch her brow with annoyance, as she pulled at her black lapels and found the Battle Factory rather detached from the rest of the island. Where were the hot-blooded men shouting out with unadulterated enthusiasm? Why was there a lack of victorious sweat on the polished floors? Had the hand-tingling sensation of passion burning thick been extinguished from the air? Everything here just screamed as it suffocated chin-deep in the insane sanity of technology.

Greta cleared her throat and prodded deliberately at his shoulder, neverminding the soft crinkly sound his white coat made when her finger drew contact. Noland peered over his shoulder and regarded her with the incline of his head and listening eyes, as if asking '_what's the matter?'._  
**  
**"You have to be more relaxed around the helpers here, they're practically robots!" the owner of the Guts symbol burst out, her arms akimbo and her expression determined and reprimanding. She stole a glance at one of the screens on the right, spotting the mechanic actions of a man as he placed pokéball after pokéball onto a moving conveyor belt. Greta ran up to the desk and smashed her callous finger at the haunting image and the nonchalant look of the poor man's face. "See what I mean?" she practically roared.

"Well, over seventy-five percent of the working helpers here _are_ smart computers," Noland said a-matter-of-factly, his fingers tracing the keys of the keyboard as he inputted a lengthy combination of numbers into a separate screen.

"My point exactly, you've got so little human company, and yet you spend no effort to make them feel appreciated!" Greta punched a fist into the air, her voice riding high on the tilting scales of justice and the undeniable sympathy towards the generally unemotional staff.

"And?" Noland rotated his hand in a circular way, urging her to get to the part where he could actually understand.

"You have to be more physically affectionate with them, you know, touch them encouragingly. Just to show that you actually care."

Noland cocked a sceptical eyebrow and reclined into the back cushion of his swivel chair. Greta grimaced unbearably and stared at him with an unpleased eye. Was he really just human flesh on the outside and cold hard steel on the inside? She found that attractive to a certain extent – but only to that line, and no more.

"Like so." She demonstrated by planting a hand on his red cap. Then rubbing his left shoulder, then giving him a playful punch with her balled hand.

Noland blinked, immediately wondering how such actions would be the likely cause of the assistants jolting in terror and toppling over in shock. They were pasty-skinned and bespectacled and quiet for a reason, he'd like to say – and it was because they didn't like being touched, amongst other excusable reasons. And he respected that odd aspect about them, he supposed. The factory head was suddenly glad that he was unlike the helpers. Had he been the same as them – he wouldn't be able to feel the slight tinge of sheepish amusement as Greta's fingers continued to dance lightly over his frame. He allowed a silly grin to flicker on his countenance for a few seconds and Greta returned it with a wide, bold smile that showed pretty teeth. It was a relieving confirmation that Noland _wasn't_ just a bucket of brains and metals.

" –Oh! And you've got to talk about your feelings too – for example, do you appreciate them? Are they doing a good job?"

Greta began going off, akin to a machine gun set on auto, the agenda shifting from _touching Noland_ back to _serious business time_. Noland, too, snapped out of the little theatrical, reminding himself that she had not come over to the factory just so that they could make cute – admittedly alluring – faces at one another. He took rein of his emotions and gazed sternly at Greta, his lips curving with disbelief. The blonde chose to take extreme measures then, leaning closer to him and bending down, drenched in complete obliviousness of her feminineness. She placed her hands on either arm rest and stared him straight in the eyes, her body hovering and intimidating over his seated form.

"No, really! The guys especially, you know, I have first-hand experience. You might not know it, but the toughest, strongest blackbelt in the dojo (apart from me, of course) is so insecure about himself," Greta rattled on as Noland swallowed and rubbed his index finger with his fidgety thumb. He tried to think about good, innocent things – like the percentage of wins and losses in the past week, the clean, grey walls of the room, the neat blonde hair, the loose black shirt with its pink belt and crystal eyes, and tight blue leggings–

"… Mind, body and soul – all three play an important role," she recited in a way that had developed from habit, finally listing away and giving the man breathing space.

"Well, I hope you remember that the next time you converse with someone," Greta waved a slack hand in quirky goodbye, skipping off back to her arena. Yes, perhaps she would stop by the local mart and grab a round of chocolate ice cream for the guys; they certainly deserved payment for their hard effort. And it would have been hypocritical of her if she neglected her faithful dojo-men after lecturing Noland about it. She folded her arms across her chest and nodded sagely as she stepped out of the building – yes, she certainly hoped the man would change his ways. She'd rather less to date a Noland who disregarded the welfare of his colleagues.

On the other side of mental capacity, Noland slumped in his chair, his cheeks burning and his mouth contorting into a visibly disturbed frown. He tried to return his attention to his work, but failed to fully commit his mind back to the task at hand. His rebellious thoughts always tiptoed back to Greta and her openness and kindness and sexyness – wait, wait, _wait_. The Factory Head slapped a palm to his face, mentally ordering himself to stop doing that _damnit_. This was shattering the impossibly composed image he tried so religiously to maintain.

At the rate he was going, he'd have to ask the rest of the staff to stay back an extra shift to help handle and evaluate the pool of data he was currently wracking over – but surely they wouldn't mind working overtime.

****


	22. Mineral : Morty and Whitney

**A/N –**

Imagine this: all the gym leaders probably had to sit through a course before they got inaugurated as leaders, amirite? This became a more general piece of the younger gym leaders of the first two generations, rather than a Morty/Whitney piece, but I _kind of_ like it. I've always pictured Morty as a politely mellow person.

**World **– Game!  
**Characters** – Whitney, Morty, Falkner, Bugsy, Janine, Misty, Blue, Jasmine, Pyrce  
**Pairings – **Morty/Whitney (Resistanceshipping), Falkner/Janine (Fatherlyshipping)  
**Genres** – Romance, General, Humor  
**Note(s)** – Requested by _xxkoffeexx_.

* * *

**  
Mineral: Morty and Whitney**

The day was sweltering, so much so that Whitney and Misty had demanded the windows of the classroom be lifted wide open in the name of all things that were pink and adorable, and blue and elegant, respectively. And as Pryce patiently tapped the tip of his thin, metal pointer against the whiteboard scrawled with complex information about effort values and their various uses, Falkner sat with diligence, his pencil stiff and his bangs swept back behind one ear. The senior regarded the small class with a smile crafted by age and a habitual yawn before carrying on with the lecture.

Try as he might, the flying-type specialist could not keep his eyes completely glued to the arithmetical symbols, not as long as the female ninja seated to his left remained there. He had a hard time driving his gaze away from her. She was to be posted in Kanto though, and the Kanto and Johto leaders-to-be did not mix much outside of class, typical clique dynamics and all that jazz. Still, Falkner could fight the temptation no longer, given the fact that Janine had just leaned over to him and taken a furtive glance at his paper with knotted eyebrows and an upturned lip. He stared, blankly, at the young woman as she realized that he had written no more than three short sentences out of the uncountable lines of Pyrce's handwriting smeared in the front of the room. He sighed sheepishly and lifted a hand to self-consciously brush through his hair, not knowing what else to do.

Janine smiled, she giggled girlishly with a politely closed mouth. He chuckled awkwardly, reveling at the chance of the rare interaction – had he triggered a flag?

"Pay attention," Pyrce rapped his knuckles against the board, his voice steady in volume and bearing no anger.

Falkner quickly straightened his posture, as did the woman next to him, before he realized that the ice-type leader had probably been referring to the young lady with bubblegum hair dozing on the desk in front of his. He leaned forward, his chair creaking on two legs as he wondered if Whitney had really fallen asleep. Before Janine and to Whintey's side, was where Morty sat, his coveted scarf hanging across his frame despite the heat. Morty did not talk much, Falkner recalled, and the blonde was mysterious in most ways, especially so because of his attraction to ghost-types, and them to him. At this thought, Morty coincidentally glanced over his shoulder, causing Falkner to jolt in his seat. The silent male simply smiled, before brushing the back of his hand against Whitney's relaxed shoulder.

The girl bolted upright, her eyes out of focus as she stifled a squeak. Pyrce swallowed and pulled at the collar of his beige shirt, "Right, if there will be no more interruptions, I shall continue," the mentor said, returning his sagely eyes to the board. The other half of the room snickered at Falkner's corner of the room, much to his embarrassment. The young, boastful teenage prodigy with the wild hair scoffed from his desk in the front row, before turning his attention back to the lecturer.

Whitney shrank in her seat as Morty continued to record notes in his elaborately filled notebook, almost as if nothing had happened. Falkner sank back into place as well, though knowing that the female in the seat ahead of his was too proud to let the matter rest just yet. His eyes wandered over to her stiffening shoulders as she hastily took a ballpoint pen in her hands and scribbled a note, before tossing it onto Morty's desk.

The ghost-lover tilted his head to the side, picking up the folded square of paper and examining it. After spending a few seconds reading the contents of the message, he pocketed the paper and nonchalantly resumed his self-given task of listening to Pryce. Whitney banged her forehead against the mahogany surface of the school desk as Falkner chose not to resist a smile. He fidgeted with the pencil in his right hand and observed the board for a moment, just long enough to jot down the formula, before the elderly man erased it with a duster and began to start on something new.

Whitney seemed undisturbed by the fact, this time, going for another approach.

_"You!"_ she hissed. Morty inclined his chin to and nodded to show that he was listening, despite the fact that his lavender eyes had attached themselves to Pyrce's writings. _"Don't act like nothing happened! You could have woken me up more discreetly, don't you think?" _she snapped her fingers, her cheeks flushing when Morty turned and beamed at her.

"I'm sorry then," he said with the straightest, most amiable face Falker had ever seen. Trust Morty to maintain his composure and apologise for doing _nothing_ wrong – "_What!_ How can you say that so easily?!" and trust Whitney to complicate manners, it was very much a given, really.

"Whitney," Pyrce coughed.

"Y-yes?... Sir?" she laughed weakly.

"… _Noisy_…" said a meek voice from behind Falkner, effectively distracting him from Whitney and the old man's exchange.

Falkner turned, only to realize that the mousy Jasmine sitting at the back of class had finally decided to voice her opinion. The girl's eyes darted about with discomfort as her lip trembled. When she noticed the flying-type specialist staring, she emitted a surprised sound and glued her eyes to her cupped hands. "N-nothing, I was just… talking to myself," she whispered, hurrying to arrange the papers on her desk, her long hair covering her downcast eyes.

By the time he turned back, Whitney was made to take a standing post next to the curled up Jasmine, her face a deep shade of red as she crossed her arms indignantly over her white shirt. Morty had shifted to the side and grinned, sympathetically maybe, over his shoulder. Whitney exhaled loudly and, astoundingly, maintained self-control of limbs that were probably itching to kick and punch.

-

"Great, I spent half the period sulking at the back," Whitney huffed as Pyrce plodded out of the classroom with his walking cane. "And I didn't understand much of what the old man taught." She slammed her hands on Morty's desk, only to dismay openly as it proved no effect on the blonde. He smiled lightly and continued to pack his things. The pink-haired roared in a sound that did not fit her slim figure before marching back to her bag, modeled after a Jigglypuff, and began to shove her notes into the innocent pink Pokémon. "He– Hey Bugsy, tutor me!" she ordered to the far end of the room, tapping an impatient foot on the cemented floor of the classroom.

Said Bugsy flinched at the high-pitched call of his name. He wound his arms around his favourite catching net before retreating towards the backdoor. "S-sorry Whitney, but I wanted to go and see some bugs, and I know how don't like icky insects, and _soi'llbegoingnow_ – bye." He stumbled and avoided her piercing eyes, softly bumping into Misty in the process of his hasty escape.

Whitney frowned quite venomously, shooting her gaze to the next target. Unfortunately, she adjusted her stance so that she faced Falkner, her bright eyes stitching their gaze onto his face "Falkner! I'm almost sure you have time to help a friend, right?" she sang in a forceful, sweetened voice. The woman was hell-bent on learning what she failed to grasp, which was understandable really, since the inauguration test and following ceremony would start in a couple of weeks.

"My apologies, Whitney. I'll have to take a raincheck," Falkner excused himself, beginning to gather all his possessions into his bag as he averted his gaze, determined not to be swayed by the friend card. He did have other responsibilities to keep back in Violet city, flight training with his father, for instance.

"Anyway, I'm not too sure about effort values anyway. Morty seems to have troubles though," he offered, gesturing an open palm to the male who was currently readjusting the way his scarf fell over his shoulders.

Whitney gaped at Falkner with metaphoric daggers.

"Why, I'd rather battle him, for all the trouble he's caused today!" Whitney tightened her hand into a fist.

"I'd be honored to have a quick skirmish with you, Whitney," Morty said with a grin, completely immune to the sarcasm "and after that, I could lend you my notes, to compensate."

The young female gawked, momentarily stunned by his charity.

"Have fun then, Normal-types have no effect on Ghost-types," Blue snorted, breaking the brief harmony between the two. The youngest boy hefted his knapsack over one shoulder as he strolled out, the last one apart from the group of four to depart the increasingly spacious room.

Whitney immediately resumed her fuming, and the three of them stood as spectators to her outrage at 'that stuck-up brat' – wait, _three_? Falkner performed a double-take, only to notice that Janine had propped herself onto her desk. It looked like she was waiting, hugging her books to her dark chest, the knees of her thick pants connecting as her attention meandered, her eyes betraying no particular emotion.

"Janine? Are you waiting for something?" Falkner ventured with the question.

The poison-type trainer snapped her eyes back to him, a meek smile adorning her pale, unmasked face. "Actually, I was wondering if you could fly me to Violet, I mean, it would be easier to return to Fuchsia from there since it's nearer to Goldenrod… but I understand if that isn't possible." She nodded to herself. "I mean, I wouldn't want to impose myself..." she drifted off, her violet gaze falling to the floor shyly.

Falkner blinked. Then, he registered her words.

He would have spontaneously combusted, if it were humanly possible.

As the pink-haired glared disapprovingly at blonde, and he returned her countenance with a peaceful smile, Falkner absently thought that they were like two completely opposing poles – chaos and harmony, normal-type and ghost-type, Whitney and Morty. He smirked, taking Janine's hand and guiding her out of the classroom, all the while telling himself that it be best that they leave the two lovebirds alone.


	23. Soul : Tate and Liza

goodness, I'm sorry for that rather long break, with the overwhelming host of fics I want to write, I've fallen into a slump regarding ideas for this project, I'd love it if anyone would care to drop a request for a pair (doesn't need to be romantic) they'd like to see – I'd prefer it to be something I haven't written before, and a huge thank you to all lovely readers. And oh I'm pretty scatterbrained, so feel free to repeat any requests if you've left them in a review here earlier already.

**World** – Game  
**Characters **– Tate, Liza  
**Genres** – General, Family

* * *

**Soul – Tate and Liza**

The first thing we curl our tiny fingers around is each other's hands. As babies, consciousness of our actions is fleeting and slippery, feeding off the impulse of fate. Gradually, we learn to stand and sit at the same time, grow up together at the same rate, learn to build castle towers and play with dolls together. And it is within the exact same day that our names roll off our tongues, at first clumsily, then afterwards, out of instinctive familiarity. We do not need to be told about our bond, because by the time we embark onto the road to school, we already know that we make two halves of a whole, and there isn't any question or curiosity to why we share the ability to complete one another's sentences. It's a given that has been thriving with us since we were born, something that comes too naturally to even bother contemplating and concerning over it. That is why, on the first day of school, the two of us present ourselves as the bravest pair of first-graders to walk through the metal gates, fingers curled and ready to face anything.

The children in school call us weird because we like to talk as one whole instead of speaking as separate individuals, like the way everyone else does. Despite their deafening wails and confused tears, we continue doing that because we can't get rid of the compulsive need to stray away from our definition of normalcy. After a week so or the kids stutter and stop trying to change us because they stop attempting to play with us. We almost feel compelled to change when we see them walk away and play amongst themselves, skipping rope one at a time instead of jumping in pairs. Instead, we grab a blue rubber ball and roll it back and forth between ourselves on the muddy soil.

(There isn't anything wrong being different, is there?)

After a few years, children transferring in and out, getting warded away by our behaviour, there was bound to be a time for us to start feeling sensations besides hunger, pain, and loneliness. So we develop crushes for members of the opposite sex within one week of each other. They are a schoolyard boy who likes kicking a lumpy soccer ball, and a pigtailed girl who presses dying flowers onto the lavender pages of her pink princess notebook. They find us cute despite the cautions the older children send, and we hit it right off the bat when they laugh at how we finish off each other's sentences.

After school we skip home in sync, congratulating one another with the same smile. We stay up late at night talking about how each of our marriages will play out; we share the same ideals and the same dreams: a simple matrimony with only close relations and a multi-tier cake with raspberry frosting. However, we soon discover that our painted dreams would only stay as dreams, as the longer time dragged on, the more impatient ten-year olds tended to become.

They get tired of having three-people play sessions and so, in the end, the boy and the girl link hands and dash off to play together, the soccer boy and the princess girl turn their backs so easily, kicking up sand in the process – disregarding us and what we thought had been true love at the time. We don't cry, we simply squeeze each other's hand and start back to the classroom that will have only one pair of joined tables in a vapid sea of social separation.

(Is there anything wrong?)

The first time we meet Lunatone and Solrock, the strings of fate entangle during the field trip to the caves lying at the edge of our town. We walk last in line and hand in hand, lingering behind as we get entranced by the stalagmites and the mysterious atmosphere breeding in the shoal caves. The floors and walls are damp with sea water, and the air perfumes itself with the scent of the sea. We refrain from talking, thoughts all too well coinciding in our awestruck minds. We turn through tunnels and climb over manageable boulders, before turning around and squinting in front and realising that we are alone and lost.

Oh.

We stay close, each trying to outdo each other in displaying courage and composure. But nothing proves itself to be particularly scary; we have each other and two torchlights – a tolerably comfortable situation. In fact, it is relieving to separate from the class. Their constant chatters and loud footsteps did intrude on the beauty of the caves. Why couldn't they talk in their minds, like us? In their absence, we could hear the dew dropping onto the cavern floor, the yawning of the zubat and the swishing of waves in a channel of water flowing through the distant, deeper parts of the caves.

And, as we concentrate, we hear the faintest, rarest sound of hovering – of two other living creatures within close proximity, emitting unharmful intentions. The beams of light from our torches land on the two pokémon floating behind us. Their big red gazes stitch on to us just as our eyes mimic the action. One is shaped as a crescent and the other is like the sun and the two don't speak much, but they are nice as they examine us before wordlessly leading us back to the main tributary of the caves. It is the first time we are interested in pokémon, and also the first time we disagree with one other – for the while the sun pokémon looks more powerful than the moon pokémon, the moon pokémon comes off as a formidable psychic with unstoppable strength.

It becomes even more tempting to keep them and less convincing to leave when we realise that the two pokémon are following us as we make our way out of the cave and into the blinding sunlight. Immediately, we promise to return for them, and as if they already know the future, they float quietly back into the shadows and allow us to leave the caves. It takes us awhile to convince our parents to let us keep the two amazing pokémon, and an even longer amount of time for us to realise that we can use them for battles, and that they move in synchrony as we do with one another.

We start training in the art of double battles.

(We're different.)

At thirteen, we are appointed as gym leaders of our city that is encircled with water; avoiding conventions and winning in our proposal of allowing both of us claim the title. The children stop shunning us and, instead, embrace us as part of their erratic society. They ask us how we manage to become so strong, and ask us to show them our prized pokémon. We exchange weighing looks, before deciding to humour them, though only for half an hour. They lose interest after five minutes though, clearly underwhelmed by the hard exteriors of Lunatone and Solrock and the nonexistence of cutesy eyes and strokable fur.

After that day, we quit school and take up home studying, tutoring each other in the subjects we alternate weaknesses in.

We take up almost literal residence at the gym all day long, staring at the entrancing neon lights of the arrow panels paving the floor and swinging our legs back and forth on the couch we had picked. At predictable intervals, we talk about the more proficient challengers of the gym, our opinions always coinciding; about the weather outside the windows framing the topmost of the encasing walls, feelings mirrored perfectly within one another. Frequently, we remind ourselves that we're the only gym leader who possesses four legs and four hands, and identical smiles simultaneously touch a pair of brown eyes and their black accompaniment.

(There isn't anything wrong being different.) **  
**


	24. Thunder : Buck and Marley

**World** – Game  
**Characters **– Buck, Marley  
**Genres** – Romance, General  
**Notes – **requested by heatman1991

* * *

**Thunder : Buck and Marley**

He barged into the cave just as another bolt of lightning crackled the air, and as he caught his breath, thunder rumbled not too far off in the distance. Buck shook his shoulders and swept the droplets of rain off his skin with one cold hand, groaning at the resultant state of his hair. As it seemed, apparently his decision to train in the tall grass outside Stark Mountain was a terribly bad choice. The teenager sighed to himself, crossing his wet arms as he stepped deeper into the darkness he had long grown familiar with.

Thunder crashed outside, and he flinched as he made his way into the livelier crevices of the mountain.

"Ahhh..."

Buck stopped, hearing the faintest cry from one corner of the dimly-lit cave – and it had sounded extremely odd. It had been a waning call, devoid of volume or alarm, very unlike the pokémon who usually demonstrated aggression before they pounced at him for an attack. In fact, as he crept closer to the source of the sound, Buck thought that it sounded more like a human's drawling voice.

He peeked carefully over a row of large rocks, rounding the bend and reaching a dead end. He didn't notice anything at first – and then, his eyes darted downwards and he realised that something was huddled in the shadowy corner.

The girl clutched her hands to her ears with her knees tucked up to her chin – it would have been an adorable scene, if not for the fact that her black attire blended smoothly into the darkness of the cave. Her dull eyes were set wide open and pinned vacantly on him with a piercing intent. Buck leapt back a few steps and screamed unhindered, his arms taking to the cavern air. The last thing he expected to find was a trainer moping behind a hedge of boulders, and a creepy one at that.

As she continued to stare at him, without speaking, Buck cautiously lowered his hands to his sides, raising a questionable eyebrow at the silent stranger. He scrutinized in the sight of the girl with the indifferent, black eyes, decked out in a misleading frilly dress with a cute bow attached to her lowered head. Yes, she would have looked picturesque, if not for the disappointing reality that her expression was firmly stoic. Her mouth was a thin line upon her pale, pale face, and a pokéball was cradled in one of her hands.

"Are you alright?" Buck asked, experimenting a few steps forward.

The girl nodded.

He regarded her closely, discovering that her arms were shivering, making out that she was wearing a sleeveless dress. "Cold?" he ventured. If only his brother was here to light the cave up and warm the rainy air.

"I have an arcanine," the girl replied blankly, seeming uninterested in the conversation.

"Arcanine? Awesome! What's your name?" Buck was delighted at the mention of the fire-type pokémon, crouching down so that his eyes were level with hers. His eyelids fluttered excitedly while the brunette's unblinking eyes remained locked with his. There was no indication of happiness or sadness, or whatever other emotion possible on her countenance – she merely oozed with nonchalance.

"... You're very chatty..." she commented briefly, after a period of silence that left Buck confused.

Buck took offense quite easily, his mouth agape and his temper quick to steam. To think that people could be so hostile towards friendly gestures, he obviously wasn't wanted there. "I was trying to be nice! Fine then, it's not like I care! I won't bother you anymore," he snapped with provoked irritation. He sniffed, puffing his chest out slightly and straightening his posture, before beginning to march off – he had to retain his dignity as a man. Being completely blocked off was one of the most humiliating things he could suffer from; battling carnivorous pokémon was even easier than dealing with scary girls.

Another clap of thunder rocked the earth, eliciting a tiny "ahhh..." from the untalkative girl.

That meant that she had been the source of the quiet cry from before. Buck curiously turned to face her again, something about the tension in the air forcing him to stay and wait for a moment.

The girl's eyes were screwed shut, and her balled frame seemed to tighten at the resounding noise.

"Are you alright?" Buck found that the only form of communication with her consisted of questions, and it was pretty redundant – obviously she was being wimpy, to be scared of thunder in such a peculiar way.

"I'll wait until the storm is over." She ignored his question. And she did not move, not even an inch.

"Don't you want to go to some other – oh, I don't know – warmer place?"

"..."

"Ahh – you!" Buck yelled loudly and purposefully, waging a war of epic proportions within himself. On one hand he could just leave her and enjoy his time taking down rhyhorns and scaling rough ridges; and on the other he could simply waste his time to accompany a socially dysfunctional girl who apparently had no emotions. What a tough choice indeed.

He eyed her discreetly as she continued to stare solemnly at the empty air in front of her. She looked almost lonely, and the manly side of him just could not neglect her, no matter how he itched to pull her cheeks and force her to smile. He sighed loudly, ensuring that the girl would understand that he was going to do something completely kind and generous. He dragged himself over to a space near her and plonked himself down on the hard rocky ground. The girl jerked, eyes widening slightly at his actions, as if she was surprised, though barely.

"Don't say anything – not like you would – but I'm just going to stay here because it's a nice spot." He folded his arms, trying not to look at her. It wasn't like he knew that she would be less scared if someone chose to sit beside her – it wasn't like that, he just didn't have anything better to do. And Claydol deserved a rest anyway.

One second passed, then two, followed by three – he grew bored fast.

"... I'm Marley," she suddenly whispered.

He turned his head away from her to admire the nearby stalactites, trying to give her a taste of her own medicine. But as the silence stretched over the span of a few more moments, it gained the power of life and began to gnaw viciously at him.

"Buck," he coughed.

* * *

"Does this always happen? I mean, doesn't it get boring?" Buck started with his third attempt at igniting a conversation with her, advising himself to just give up if she chose to ignore him again. His legs were stretched out in front of him, ankles rolling and pants getting damp on the cave floor. Slowly but surely, Marley extended herself from her initial position, mimicking him so that her knees were no longer locked in place. He barely saw the outline of her legs through the poor lighting, and the first thought that hit him was that she was thin and frail, even for a girl.

"... Sometimes I feel a little forlorn waiting," she finally answered. It was a clear response, a celebratory first for the two of them.

Buck could hear the faint confusion nestled in the vacancy of her words, and he wondered if she had many friends. He leaned his chin into the palm of his hand, and nodded quietly at her– for once, he decided not to talk, it would have probably spoiled the mood. So he sat next to her, flicking stray pebbles with his fingers and counting the lashes shielding her eyes.

"... This is a strange feeling..." Marley said after awhile.

"What? Are you okay?" Buck sat up straight, flicking his gaze to her.

She curled back into a ball, nodding silently and refusing to meet his eyes.

* * *

Eventually, the rain softened to a sympathetic drizzle, and he immediately led her out, eyes momentarily blinded by the rays of the washed sun. When Buck opened them, adjusting to the benefit of daylight, he quickly turned behind to ask Marley to hurry up. His mouth opened, though nothing came out, because in open air, he could finally see the porcelain skin she owned and the sculpture of her face. The black dress actually suited her, the hair bow a lovely touch, and when she rubbed her squinting eyes and yawned quietly behind a small hand, Buck's heart accelerated. His hand instantaneously shot up to slap his cheek lightly, and he forgot what he had intended to say to her. He stood silently for a moment, just to observe Marley from the corner of his eyes, his index finger scratching his cheek self-consciously.

She didn't look as intimidating now, almost fragile and exposed under the embrace of the sun.

He decided to challenge her to a battle, just to shake off the odd sensation bombarding his head and his chest. She gazed at him wordlessly, eyes hazy and lips slightly parted, before agreeing with a slow nod of her head.

* * *

Her arcanine was monstrously powerful, with all its grand roars and the polished fangs it bared. Buck could hardly relate the pokémon to its trainer, and had to consistently remind himself to stay focused, instead of looking at the way she commanded her team.

If not, he knew he would have lost the match.

* * *

The sun slid sneakily behind the monument of Stark Mountain, rays inking the sky a warm orange to contrast the first mentions of night filling the sky above them. Buck had his hands in his pockets as he walked beside Marley, the two taking the same route to the closest pokémon center. By now, he had gotten used to the quietness that dogged the girl's footsteps; it almost felt cosy against his skin.

"You want to battle again sometime?" he found himself asking quite abrasively, he couldn't stop himself. Marley's quiet eyes raised themselves from the pathway to address him, and he tried his best to produce a comfortable grin in response to her attention.

"I don't know why, but I think I might have enjoyed battling you... Just a little, only a tiny bit," Marley struggled to say, her hands coming together and her fingers intertwining calmly.

Buck didn't know why, but he felt accomplished – maybe that was her weird way of giving out compliments, but he could sense that he had achieved something worth merit. He smiled involuntarily at the thought, before wiping the smug grin off his face – what was he doing? Getting so worked up over her words, that was preposterous.

Marley lowered her head as she continued to contemplate. Buck didn't know why he was suddenly holding his breath, anticipation creeping up his spine.

"I... suppose I'd like that," she finally answered.

"I'd like that too," he blurted before his mind could process the statement, surprising himself.

Then there was a hint of a smile on her face; he could have sworn he had seen it sparkling under the setting sun.


	25. Rain : Volkner and Candice

**world – **game**  
characters – **volkner, candice**  
genres – **romance**  
****notes** – sorry I took so long to update, but I think I'm more confident handling the gym leaders right now; you might notice that my writing style has changed and now I have a penchant for writing shorter pieces.

* * *

**Rain: Volkner and Candice**

It rains on the day Candice visits Volkner. It is an amusing sort of irony, she points this thought out to the blond gym leader (being _Sunnyshore_ and all that). It's a poor conversation starter, but she can't quite think of anything else to say. Volkner shrugs with his hands in his pockets; he's too busy trying to figure out why she is standing at the doorstep of his gym – black hair and bright eyes, intimidating skirt and soggy shirt.

Raindrops fall from the tips of her hair and her white shirt is dangerously nearing on translucent levels. She creates a puddle inside the hall of his gears and mechanisms, but Volkner does not complain or gripe. He just frowns and drapes his jacket over her shoulders. Candice makes the effort to smile on his behalf.

"Why are you here?" he asks after he gets her a cup of hot chocolate. He places his own mug of coffee on the tabletop and sits down.

Candice tilts her head, it doesn't look like she knows the answer. "No specific reason," she says before proceeding to twist the water out of her pigtails.

Volkner still refills her cup and listens to her talk about things that have never crossed his mind though.

* * *

Candice is outside his gym in the early morning, drenched from the earlier storm. Volkner had been lazing in his apartment, watching the water slide down his windowpanes until the clouds had cleared. Suddenly, that hadn't seemed like a good idea, not with the young lady shivering and scolding him for opening his gym an hour late.

"Your gym isn't even open," he tells her pointedly.

"I've taken an off-day," she explains, this time her hands squeeze the tails of her shirt.

Volkner observes her for a brief moment before stuffing the keys of the gym into his jacket. "I guess that means I'm taking a break too," he sighs. The blond tells her to follow him back to his house. When Candice raises an eyebrow and throws him a guarded look, he gives her a blank stare that might mean a polite expression of _'suit yourself'_.

She ends up walking with him, awing at the solar panels of the bridges of the city and insisting that he explain to her how they work. Volkner does this, and he surprises himself when his voice doesn't sound all that bored or tired.

He gives her a place to shower and lays out his smallest shirt for her to wear. She has to roll up the sleeves and tuck it into the waistband of her skirt. Volkner chuckles, it is a quiet sound that feels odd in his throat. Candice is torn between yelling in protest and laughing along with him, because this is not a normal relationship, but she can't quite bring herself to care.

She recognizes the cup he sets down on a coaster for her, and tucks her knees under her chin. She flags off talking about a list of things she's been brainstorming about since their last session together (_"Roark and Gardenia are avoiding each other. I don't know, maybe they really don't like the other, or they're just terrible at romance."_). Volkner nods with absent content and steals glances at the striped socks and flowery blue bra hanging out to dry.

* * *

Candice is under an umbrella the next time it rains. It is only the evening and she'd been hoping to try out the gourmet of the beach shacks. She doesn't hide her disappointment when Volkner informs her they close early on rainy nights, twirling the handle of her white umbrella.

"There's always take-out," he reminds her curtly.

"Alright, but next time you have to use your gym badge and get us some discounts from the hotdog stands," Candice says, the seriousness is heavy in her words. Volkner nods to appease her, and they share the umbrella as they walk out of the shelter of the gym.

It is after they leave their plastic bowls of noodles empty on the counter of his kitchen that Candice is appalled. She seems to take offense at the very knowledge that Volkner doesn't have any form of board game in his closet, not even magnetic checkers. He salvages the situation by digging out a pack of playing cards Flint had stashed behind his television. Grudgingly, Volkner comes to terms with the realisation that he has to thank the afro-head the next time he comes badgering him.

* * *

She falls asleep between him getting up to refill their drinks and rushing back to make sure she wasn't peering under his couch (because, well, all guys have got to keep their stashes _somewhere_). The cards are scattered across her skirt and her hands are clutched around a pillow. He breathes a humiliating sigh of relief, before throwing a blanket over her. He gathers up the pieces of chips and poker cards in a silence that he would be used to on any normal occasion, but seems odd with Candice so close, lying just there on his couch.

The clock's hand is at two and he has to open his gym in the morning, a couple of trainers have already made an appointment to challenge him. He makes sure the living room is clean before switching the lights and resting his head on the wall across from the sofa.

* * *

His face feels warm when he wakes up. It's because Candice is curled up beside him, her head on his shoulder. The sunlight spills into the apartment, and lights up the toes of her cotton socks. He doesn't think to move, only takes in the feeling of her hands around his arm and the smell of rain in her hair.


	26. Cobble : Roark and Byron

**world – **game**  
characters – **roark, byron**  
genres – **family  
**notes** – I've skimmed through the anime and manga's (DP adventures) interpretations of this relationship, and went another way with this. Also, would anyone want me to cover the Unova gym leaders/e4 too? Suggestions for pairings are welcome, but bear in mind that I'm open to writing friendship/family based combinations as well (:

* * *

**Cobble: Byron and Roark**

**1. **to mend (shoes, boots, etc.); patch.  
**2. **to put together roughly or clumsily.

When Roark is still young enough to sit on his father's shoulders and pretend he's riding a bastiodon, he asks: "When can I take over the gym, dad?"

Byron chuckles. It's a loud, warm sound that makes the boy laugh too because he can feel his father shaking. "When you're older, son," is the reply, and Roark had been contented with that just then, happy enough knowing that day would come.

* * *

When Roark's fifth baby tooth falls, just after he gets his first pokémon, he thinks he's ready. Geodude revolves around him, fists pumping the air and making encouraging noises as they rise up on the magnetic elevators of his father's gym. The gym trainers are like obstacles to avoid and conquer – the boys like to call him 'champ' and ask boring conversational questions (so, what'd you do in school today?) while the girls make a habit of pinching his cheeks and cooing.

He finally reaches the top floor where his father is standing, tall and sturdy just like his steel pokémon.

"Look at this, dad! I taught Geodude how to use Rock Smash!" Roark proudly proclaims, gesturing to his pokémon, who is more than eager to show off his strength, crushing an idle boulder Byron had left behind from a previous skirmish with a trainer. "Can I start training to take over the gym yet?" Roark asks, expectant and hopeful and everything a child can't be blamed for.

"Not yet, not yet, you have to start behavin' like a man first!" Byron instructs him, smacking a hand on his scrawny shoulder. He twirls his son around and sends him down the elevator, and the young boy ends up down on the first floor. He cranes his neck, staring up at the figure of his father, with his ratty cape rippling behind him like a superhero.

The next time Roark falls and scrapes his knee, he doesn't cry. He swallows the tears with the pain and tries to emanate heroic courage, standing back onto his feet and raising his chin, righting his crooked spectacles. His father isn't around to notice, though.

* * *

It's only when he has two pokémon, Geodude and Onix – friends and fighters and the fiercest things he's ever known –, does he realise that his father has been giving his Rock-type pokémon to train.

Byron puts an orange helmet on his head, just for safety. "And for good luck, too," the father grins, rapping his knuckles against his son's head. Roark smiles involuntarily, before snapping out of the momentary distraction. "Dad, I should be training steel-type pokémon, shouldn't I?" he questions his father, fingers toying with the straps of his new helmet, a tad too large for his head.

"No, no, you've got a talent with rock-types, I can tell," Byron insists. "I'll lend you some of my pokémon when you're older."

Roark is barely just young enough to be willing to believe his father.

* * *

Roark is a teenager, and he's learned to stop asking his father about handing down the gym.

The past few years have been spent training on Iron Island and going to school and memorizing the schedule of the dock's ships so he knows when he can sleep at night and when he should get up in the morning, without the bellow of the horn startling him awake. He counts the wingulls on the ports and figures that there's about fifty of them. One year, after winter, when they return, he counts fifty-two and asks himself why he's doing this again.

Onix's growls are low and concerned sometimes, when Roark forgets about his responsibilities and thinks about childhood dreams that have turned stale. When he goes into the gym, the gym trainers don't treat him like they used to. They nod their heads and smile tightly and Roark wonders if he's changed. He's stopped pestering his father about becoming a gym leader – stopped pestering anyone about anything in general.

The only thing Byron teaches him is about excavation, and Roark memorizes all the little things. He learns how to identify granite from limestone, the formation of the stalagmites in the caves, how to dig out fossils without damaging them. He understands the best way to use a shovel is to dig deep and then – heave ho (!). He knows the maze of Iron Island like the back of his hand, though he still needs his helmet to light the way. He revives his own cranidos and it happily joins Onix and Geodude – another rock-type, another pokémon ineligible for the title of a steel-type gym leader.

The only thing he never learns is how to make his father proud.

"If I beat you in a gym match, you have to at least consider letting me try out for gym leader," Roark says. He doesn't like how timid he sounds, but he can't help it. He's in his father's gym again, at the top floor, hoping and hoping that he won't be sent back down to the ground again.

Byron chuckles, in the same way he always has. He nods his head, but doesn't exactly listen.

"You're still a kid, Roark. Wait for yourself to grow up, son," Byron talks like he understands his son, but he'd stopped understanding when Roark had been seven, maybe eight. Roark isn't brave enough to tell the man standing in front of him, not now and maybe not ever. He only nods and feels his father's dusty hand pat the helmet on his head.

* * *

He moves halfway across the region, just to show how much he's grown.

But in the end, in the silence of the mines, Roark wonders if he's still just a small child waiting for a father's approval.


End file.
